Well-Adjusted Barely Traumatized Demon Slayer (Murata SI-ish)

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Murata watched the river. It flowed simply, not a care in the world.

His reflection stared back at him. This appearance was familiar, and not in a flattering way.

When Murata remembered the reason he kept his hair in such a manner, he cried to himself.

In a world of demons, this was the person he became?

Murata put his hands on his hair and groaned.

-

He was more than just Murata, but don't tell anyone that. It didn't really matter since no one would believe him.

Maybe his mother and father would, but they were long gone. It was only after he was rescued that a flood of life poured into his mind.

It wouldn't be wrong to say that a part of him died when an unnamed, unimportant demon slaughtered his family and friends. It just so happened that another life found itself imbedded in him.

So with two half-lives, he moved forward.

He moved forward towards certain death. He was training under a waterfall freezing from hypothermia.

Cultivators were rare, good ones especially so. To be completely fair, one had to be insane to survive this long as a demon slayer. An unfortunate side effect is that many of them went past the point of teaching. In other words, teachers trained their childish students to exhaustion.

In a world of supernatural abilities, it actually made sense in a morbid way. If you pushed yourself to the absolute limit, you could break barriers and reach the unseen world of strength and power. This is called plot armor because otherwise, you would just die.

He was Murata with something else, but the distinction mattered less and less. Two blueprints existed in this body. The original host and the parasite fused together to make something. Again, he was Murata, but not the same seen on the pages of a book.

While he was older than most children his age, it didn't help as much as he would have hoped when it came to knowledge.

Just because you knew something doesn't mean you could prevent it! Much less, affect events so as to change the world!

But he would try anyway. Because in a world full of unnecessary suffering, it was worse than doing nothing.

-

Breathing styles involved more than breathing. It goes without saying, but most people forget about that fact.

Take for example, Water Breathing. At a basic level, it mimics an aspect of Sun Breathing. All breaths do to a certain extent.

Water Breathing focuses on adaptability and ease of use. It became something more usable for anyone who wasn't Yoriichi.

However, besides breathing, one had to understand how to move their body. To be like water and to understand how the breath affects that process.

Water Breathing was seen as the most approachable breathing art due to water's nature. It flows and it's adaptable.

"You are terrible at this," Murata's teacher said. "I've never had a worse student."

Murata held back a complaint. He was his teacher's only student.

A punch to the abdomen, a smack to the back, and a kick to the leg.

"Your stance is off and your body's trembling. What was the point of all that physical conditioning? Are you naturally weak?"

He was only given a month or so of physical training.

Murata legs buckled and he fell to the ground tasting dirt. It was a familiar taste. Murata and the ground were about as good friends as comrades who've seen years of war together.

"After you get up, go back and down to the village. Guess we'll spend more time training before working on technique."

Murata could only nod as he began the hour long run.

-

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Murata's training sword broke as it collided with the dummy.

"Good try," Sato said. Surprisingly, Murata and his teacher shared the same last name.

Unsurprisingly, it's also one of the most common last names in all of Japan. Murata's lack of distinction was its own trait at this point.

Sato unleashed the first form against the second wooden dummy. Murata didn't even see the unsheathing of the blade. Only the remains of the dummy allowed him to realize something was done.

"If you get to my level, maybe you can make a difference," Sato said. Murata knows the man is impressive, but he's also bragging to his only student.

Murata spoke up. "When I get there, then I get to take part in Final Selection?"

"If you were that good, then there wouldn't be any demons left at the end," Sato said. "Instead, once you master the first five forms to my liking, then I'll allow you."

Murata nodded. Though, the timing on this was tough. As far as he knew, he participated during the same time as Giyu. When that took place, he had no clue.

If he trained hard enough, it might be possible to help Sabito. The dead boy was stronger than Giyu at that point, so maybe his potential was even greater.

"Why only the first five?"

Sato smacked him. "I'll be dead by the time you master all of the forms. Just stick to the core principles, and you'll at least stay alive."

Murata nodded and unleashed the first form with a new training sword.

-

Truth be told, Murata had a good cultivator. Sato, or old man Sato, as Murata mentally called him, had the ability but never became a hashira. He retired as a kinoe when a demon tore off his arm.

Murata was very lucky. It was a shame that he couldn't make the most of it. People might think being a demon slayer was all about training hard and being strong, but being stupid was more of a danger than being weak.

It was important to understand a proper course of action in any given situation. Proper planning, weighing risk and reward, protecting the general populace, basic first aid and survival skills, and much more.

It took especially long because Murata wasn't a special prodigy nor did he have an instinctual knack. He couldn't move his organs or smell the intention of others. He can't hear feelings or see through flesh. So, training took up most of his time.

Even the memories were fading. Details became sparse, and the memories of his lives blended together.

Though, it was because of this seamless integration that he had one advantage above other people:

He had experience. Not demon slaying experience, but life experience. It may not make him a giant but that small thing could make all the difference.

Murata unleashed the third form as he stewed in his thoughts.

-

Sato lay on his deathbed. He was sick, he knew it, and Murata knew it as well.

At first, it was a cough. Then a limp. Next, the constant fog in his brain. Lastly, his strength began leaving him.

Murata was not a special miracle. But he did surpass his teacher's expectations, managing to perform the tenth form. It was awful and left Murata weak for the next day, though the fact he could even do it was a testament to his efforts.

Murata cleaned his teacher's towels and prepared warm soup for him. Sato could not even muster the ability to smack his student. There were lots of things he wanted to say but not enough time to say it.

"You've done well," Sato said.

"I know."

"I think that of all the students I've had, you were the best."

"I was your only student."

Sato shook his head. "I had one son, and he wanted to prove himself to this old man. He would become the Water Hashira, and he wanted me to take care of the estate."

Murata froze. He watched as his teacher gained a clarity in his eyes.

"But he died. Fighting a Lower Moon. I thought, why is the world cruel?" Sato coughed.

"That was the wrong question. I should have asked, why was I not stronger?"

"But you are strong."

"Of course I am!" Sato coughed again. "But I'm also old and weak. Seeing you grow made me grateful. Even though this world is cruel, there are those who can't help but want to change that."

"It's for selfish reasons," Murata said. It was true. His parents and sister died to a demon attack, and it was Sato who saved him. Unlike a certain kind-hearted person, Murata would never stop hating demons. Nor has he found the inner strength to emit a presence of focused tranquility.

"That you do it at all is enough for me. Truthfully, I didn't think you had it in you. I still don't," Sato laughed.

Murata frowned.

"You somehow reached a level of Water Breathing I didn't expect. If it suits you, so be it. But don't be afraid to be different if it helps you survive."

"I am not like others. I cannot just make a breathing style."

"Of course not," Sato said, "that's not what I said. Don't be afraid to take things to new heights."

Pausing, Murata collected his thoughts. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Keep my sword. Take it to Final Selection."

"I will."

"I'm leaving everything here to you. Do you still want to become a demon slayer?"

Sato had everything necessary to survive. A built house, a small garden, and beautiful nature to relax in. All Murata would need to do is to find a wife, have some children, and he could live a life his parents would be proud of.

But not like this. This was the tragedy of a demon slayer. Not a single one was 'normal.' Even Murata, the man who would be mocked as 'pitifully average' by those who read about him, had a righteous heart and innate desire to fight against monsters that could easily kill hundreds of humans. Even with his unexplainable memories, that determination had not wavered.

"Even so, I'm going to become a demon slayer."

Sato sighed, then he cried. Murata stayed silent, allowing his teacher to grieve about the past and future.

"I…wish you all the best. Stand tall and help others. Those small actions can change the entire world," Sato whispered.

An hour later, old man Sato died. That night, Murata dug a grave for his teacher and offered his prayers.

If Murata cried, then no one was there to see it.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Murata prepared for Final Selection as best as he could. Even if the feeling of fear would never disappear, he must move forward.

He traveled light and mentally assured himself. He focused on his breathing the entire way, reviewed his plans, and triple checked his meager supplies.

Over a week of running, later, he could see the gates to Mount Fujikasane. He pocketed some wisteria and made his way towards the rest of the attendees.

He gazed at each one, trying to find a familiar face. Everyone looked either afraid, angry, or empty.

The last girl he looked at was short, had blue eyes, and wore a fox mask.

Wait, what?

Was Makomo after or before Sabito and Giyu? His mind filled itself with questions.

His thinking was interrupted by Lady Amane, who gave the opening speech.

"Welcome to Final Selection. After seven days in the mountain, return here. If you find yourself coming back here before then," she gestured around herself, "then you failed, but can try again later. Do not be so quick to lose your life."

The kakushi flanking her stepped forward and bowed.

"The kakushi will tend to your injuries, whether you pass or fail. I wish you all the best of luck."

The participants began running into the dark forest after the brief announcement.

-

Final Selection was a seven day initiation that was more of a survival course than an actual demon slaying test. At least, that's how Murata saw it.

After all, you could kill not a single demon but still pass as long as you survived. It still tested one's ability to slaughter demons, especially if you were proactive. But the option to just hide somewhere in the mountain was available.

Other things that were tested included sleep deprivation training and survival skills. The mountain was covered in trees and the sky could be covered with clouds, so any opportunistic or reckless demon could still hunt for you during the day. Sleeping could be fatal, but it was necessary to perform well.

That was probably the most dangerous part of the test. Most people, after days of paranoia and exhaustion, would be easy pickings for some of the stronger demons on Mount Fujikasane.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Murata sliced the head off his first demon.

"Curse you…!" The demon crumbled away.

He sighed and prepared a sleeping spot at a nearby tree. The test started in the early morning, so the first day was essentially a free pass.

Murata continued his breathing and mentally reviewed his forms as the sun rose.

Old man Sato made Murata think twice about Water Breathing. Yes, he was able to use each form. However, it didn't mean he could do them well.

Anything past the fifth form was questionable, and the tenth form, while powerful, left him defenseless for a time.

To surpass hundreds of years of knowledge and advance his technique to new heights?

It's not like he could just come up with something to suit his physicality. That required a deep understanding of self and a ridiculous amount of talent.

Maybe one day, but not today.

-

The next few days and nights became a rhythm. He would rest during the day and hunt during the night.

He only had to administer his bandages once. The poor guy fell down a tree, its limbs tearing him up as he ate dirt.

He directly saved someone else's life from a demon attack. Apparently, their sword broke and they were trying to return to the wisteria clearing.

It was not as impressive as say, Sabito, but it wasn't bad at all.

On the last night of Final Selection, Murata had the unfortunate luck to find the hand demon.

Worse yet, Makomo was fighting and losing badly. One arm limped and blood was staining her clothes.

The demon's eye swirled with madness as the arms slammed the dirt repeatedly.

"The last one was extremely tasty! Her cries were so satisfying."

Makomo cried in rage and rushed at the demon. It was a trap and the demon grinned at her mistake.

Murata could only pray for his future self as he did the only thing that would save her.

Water Breathing, Tenth Form: Constant Water Flux

Murata closed the distance, cut through the hands, and tackled Makomo away from the demon. Her rage was stifled immediately and he whined in pain.

The tenth form was taxing on his body. A culmination of several techniques, it was dangerous to pull off successfully.

The hand demon charged at them, still grinning like a monster. Watching the shambling demon was nightmare fuel. Seeing Makomo's reckless intent to attack again made him want to scold her. Murata took out the grounded wisteria from his pocket and threw it at the demon as he wearily ran towards them.

"That burns!"

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

After prying herself out of Murata's grasp, she launched herself at the demon.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Murata summoned his last vestiges of strength, weaved towards the demon, and cut the arms closest to the ground.

The demon lost its balance, causing his arms to flail wildly and expose his neck. Makomo sliced off its head.

Murata held his breath until the demon completely crumbled away.

Then, he fell to the ground, tasting the dirt. He could hardly move his body.

Makomo whirled on him like a tsunami.

"That was incredibly dangerous!" She told him. Hypocitically too, Murata thought.

He passed out. Not only did he exhaust himself but that encounter would give him enough nightmares for a while.

-

Murata woke up to the sensation of the hard ground. It felt cool and stiff.

In a way, it was relaxing. The ground would never leave him. It was a familiar friend in a world of pain.

He pretended to stay asleep because of his exhaustion.

"Wake up! I know you're awake," Makomo prodded him with her foot.

Whining, Murata took his time standing up. Makomo continued walking away.

"I had to carry you across half the mountain! You're very lucky demons didn't find us. I would've left you," she mumbled the last part.

Murata rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but a little offended at that, yet he thanked her for the courtesy of carrying him.

He remembered a calm and thoughtful child, so why was this girl the complete opposite of that?

Did becoming a spirit change her entire personality? Or maybe she was high-strung from Final Selection. Maybe the fact that he saved her life soured the act of avenging her teacher's students.

Perhaps Murata was the type of person people couldn't help but antagonize a little bit.

Shaking his head, Murata continued walking. On the other side of the clearing, Makomo kept an eye on him.

The most average looking person she's ever seen saved her life. He even did a good job at it, considering his lack of external injuries. But, he overestimated himself and used more strength than was healthy.

Don't get her wrong though! He had potential, maybe.

"My bandages!" Murata cried out. His small bag was completely empty.

Makomo laughed to herself, wincing in pain as the bandages on her body shifted.

-

Lady Amane greeted the survivors at the base of Mount Fujikasane. Not everyone made it in one piece.

More morbid was that only five of them would become demon slayers. The other survivors failed the test by leaving early. Whether they would become kakushi or try again later remained to be seen.

Murata put on his demon slayer uniform and picked out his ore for his future sword. He had no way of knowing what looked 'powerful' or 'special,' so he just chose the biggest rock.

Makomo chose the second largest.

His crow arrived immediately and sat on his head. It did a little dance with its feet, scratching the scalp on which it was perched on.

"Stop that!" Murata swatted at his bird.

This bad behavior didn't deserve a reward so Murata would not give his bird a beautiful name.

It mattered little since the crow named itself.

"Nobunaga!"

"No!"

"Nobunaga!"

Murata sighed. Why couldn't he get an average crow to suit him?

-

Arriving at Sato's home, Murata set down his belongings and thought to himself.

It was his home now so what was the next step?

One had to wait for their swordsmith to come by, so in the meantime, Murata practiced and cleaned.

He cut the wood, moved the rocks, and tidied up the small house. He practiced breathing, exercised to exhaustion, and thought about the future.

The world he lived in has stayed the same for hundreds of years. The secret war against demons and demon slayers has seen ups and downs, but neither side overwhelmed the other.

It was out of apathy on Muzan's part and lack of ability on Ubuyashiki's side.

Until Tanjiro's presence, things stayed much the same. Though, wasn't it a coincidence that by the time Tanjiro became a demon slayer, Ubuyashiki had gathered the finest group of hashira since the Sengoku era?

Murata certainly thought so. But thinking more on it, the Demon Slayer Corps could've had an even bigger advantage.

The deaths of promising children like Sabito, Yuichiro, and many others were a tragedy.

Even people like Tanjiro's younger brother could have saved dozens of lives. If Tanjiro and Nezuko had such amazing capabilities, then how about the third oldest sibling?

Such examples brought tears to Murata's eyes. He could only do so much but no matter what, he must move forward one step at a time.

It was impossible to do everything but that was no excuse for not trying.

Murata was brought out of his head when Nobunaga screeched at him.

"Swordsmith!"

True to word, a swordsmith walked up to Murata's home. They shared small pleasantries and a cup of tea.

Unsheathing the blade, Murata watched as it changed color.

At first, it did nothing, then specks of very light blue scattered itself on the length of his blade.

The change felt so miniscule though! At a faraway glance and under certain lighting, it looked no different than an unchanged blade.

The swordsmith's pipe released a huff of steam.

"I've…never seen this happen. I can't even tell if this is a good or bad thing," the swordsmith shrugged. "But the fact it did change even a little bit is good. At least you have the ability to use breathing arts."

Murata mentally wept.

Didn't the color of the blade help determine your breathing style? Did this mean he would be a weak water breather? Did it mean he would have to come up with something different?

Was old man Sato onto something? Though he never explicitly said anything to that effect.

Murata couldn't even feel elated because it meant that either way, he would have to work even harder to understand himself.

He bowed in appreciation. "Thank you for your hard work, swordsmith."

The swordsmith waved him off. "My name is Tetsuido. If you ever need the sword repaired, then send a message through your crow."

As Tetsuido walked away, Murata was left with a loss.

Who even was Tetsuido?

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

"Northeast!"

Nobunaga circled around Murata as he jogged closer to the village.

Japan was just too large for a single person to traverse in a reasonable amount of time. And because of the ban on carrying swords, it was easier to avoid the large cities altogether than to risk being arrested.

Most demon slayers were assigned to specific regions to avoid this problem. A very unlucky demon slayer could have a mission in Hokkaido then have to make the journey down to Kyushu.

That was incredibly unlikely but not impossible. So, each demon slayer was assigned a specific region, while their crow would relay missions taking place within that region.

Sometimes, they could take place in different regions depending on the distance, but the crows were trained to understand that.

As for how the crows were trained? Murata did not have a single clue.

Murata, meanwhile, was in Chubu, which served perfectly well for him. It was where he lived with old man Sato, and his village was not too far from his deceased mentor.

Murata kept a steady jog, maintaining his strength while training his body. He really couldn't avoid this part of life. His lack of a supernatural or mystical ability meant he shouldn't slack off on physical conditioning. It could make the difference between life or death.

Not everything was off the table though. He's committed to several theories regarding the mark, but nothing to prove any of his ideas.

Catching his breath, Murata found himself in a village similar to the one he used to live in as a child.

With his meager savings, he bought a meal and a room at the only inn. The sun remained high in the sky, so he would sleep and investigate at night.

-

After leaving the inn, Murata set out around the outskirts of the village with a lantern.

Every shadow, every wisp of wind, and every unexplained noise ate away at his tranquility and increased his paranoia.

One hand remained twitching at the hilt of his sword, while the other gripped the lantern tightly.

The half-moon remained weak, its light barely helping his vision.

Suddenly, a scream echoed out in the forest.

Turning quickly, Murata instantly rushed towards the trees.

Reaching the source of the sound, he saw a disgusting demon.

Granted, all demons were disgusting in a moral way, but this one, just like the hand demon, was just disturbing to witness.

Numerous legs wrapped around a tree while the head was poised to strike at the unlucky girl, similar to a snake chasing a mouse.

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Murata slashed the only two arms the demon possessed while pushing the girl behind him. He set the small lantern at his waist, allowing both hands to hold his sword.

"Run away. Go back to your home!" Murata told her. The girl did not hesitate. She ran as tears trailed down her face.

Fortunate, because a frozen or panicked civilian would make things more difficult.

The demon centipede scrambled and screamed in anger. Standing tall as a dozen legs supported him, he towered over Murata.

"I'll eat you alive! I'll grind your bones, I'll-"

While the demon rambled stupidly, Murata threw a vial of alcohol in its mouth.

"That's disgusting!" The demon spat out the shards of glass puncturing its mouth.

Turns out man-eating monsters don't like alcohol.

Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance

Dicing through several legs, Murata rushed for the kill, only to be kicked back by another limb.

A nearby tree broke his fall. Murata's back spiked with pain, but he immediately began climbing the tree.

The demon laughed as it crawled faster than Murata expected.

Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel

Jumping off a tree limb, Murata aimed for its neck.

The demon twisted in time, but not before getting half its face cut off.

Landing on his feet, Murata rolled away to refocus his stance.

The demon angrily stomped the ground as the force of several dozen legs rumbled like an earthquake. The dirt loosened, the trees shook, and the nearby critters ran away in fear.

Murata shuddered. He'd rather fight a demon moon than this abomination. At least most of them looked vaguely human.

They danced together. Murata, like a praying mantis, went for precise strikes while the demon centipede relied on pure physicality.

Murata received more cuts and bruises as the demon regenerated its own wounds.

But, while hiding atop a tree, Murata committed a final plan of attack.

"Found you!" The demon laughed.

Its teeth tasted Murata's leg, offsetting the timing of his jump. The tree groaned, both from the demon's weight and from the force of Murata's jump.

Tumbling to the ground, Murata positioned himself carefully and watched as the demon sadistically slithered towards him. His back faced the opponent but Murata could feel its smile.

"You caused me too much grief tonight," the demon's tone turned calm, as if holding itself back. "I can't believe one of you brats decided to-"

First of all, never monologue in front of a downed foe.

Murata threw a burning vial straight at the demon, causing its entire face to catch aflame.

The demon screamed, its roar shaking the earth. Next, the tree that Murata sloppily jumped from fell on the demon, causing it to be trapped momentarily.

Water Breathing, Sixth Form: Whirlpool

Murata leapt towards the demon as his sword violently sliced and diced its neck off.

Watching it turn to dust, Murata collapsed to the ground, trying to keep his breathing measured.

His attitude soured quickly. Not only did he have to immediately use his questionable vials of alcohol, but he sustained more injuries than anticipated.

The former meant that he had to find another way of acquiring alcohol without spending his money. This was impossible mostly because he didn't have any, and he would not resort to stealing.

The latter meant he needed to find a wisteria house so that he could rest peacefully, without charge. Again, because of his lack of money.

"South! South!" Nobunaga cried out.

–

Nobunaga was at the very minimum considerate, since the directions led him towards a wisteria house.

He rested for two weeks before setting off again.

He also received pay. His first ever as a demon slayer.

It was enough for a traveling swordsman and quite generous considering his age.

On the other hand, he was a child soldier fighting demons that could obliterate a town of normal people. In other words, it was honestly not enough for the type of work he was doing.

But most didn't join for fame or riches, and the Ubuyashiki family only had so much, even as rich and influential as they were.

It was certainly enough for alcohol, which he couldn't help but try a little.

"It tastes like shit," he cried. Some things remained the same, no matter the time or place.

-

Two years passed since joining the Demon Slayer Corps.

Murata was, at the very least, grateful that he has survived to this point.

A flow of boring, yet achievable missions saw to his small victory.

Though, he desperately needed someone more experienced to teach him. Water Breathing was approachable because it was adaptable, but the best spurts of growth occurred under the supervision of a superior.

Murata noticed how little his forms have changed or improved in the last year. This was dangerous not only because it would make him complacent, but because he was still not strong enough.

One could only practice by themselves for so long before stagnating.

In addition, he wasn't a fast burner.

He was at the Kanato rank. If Murata remembered correctly, he was a Kanoe during the Rui situation, which was the immediate rank above. However, neither were even close to Hashira or Tsuguko status.

There were exceptions to the rule, but Murata certainly was not one of them. In the Demon Slayer Corps, rank determined your pay, the difficulty of missions, and the number of people you might have to work with.

"East!"

Stirring out of his musings, Murata approached a road leading to a village by the sea.

As he ranked up, he was shifted to missions in the Kansai region. It was located just west of Chubu, and it boasted Osaka.

Murata reached the village, noting its sparse, quiet atmosphere.

It unnerved him. He remembered the streets of his own village being full of people and bustling with activity.

The nearby inn proved to be useless. The owner, seeing Murata's uniform, turned stern.

"No, I have not seen anything. Stay out!" The woman shut the door on his face.

Likewise, whenever he would try to introduce himself or ask for hospitality, the people turned suspicious, fearful, or angry.

As a result, not only was he homeless for the night, but he had no leads on where the demon could be.

The next day, as he watched the ocean waves flow, a girl came up to him.

Seeing her outfit, and the small mask hanging at her waist, Murata was pleasantly surprised. But not before giving a small glare at his crow for not informing him of a joint mission.

"Makomo?"

She nodded, surprised at his memory.

"I hope the best in our mission."

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

The two regrouped at the entrance of the village, ready to set out in the investigation. Since Makomo was the higher ranking member, Murata followed her lead.

He did advise her of his terrible encounters with some of the people, so they traveled to the houses Murata had not visited yet.

Very little changed in the attitude of the villagers, except for one family.

A grieving mother and father grimly explained the situation.

"It started happening weeks ago," the man said. "First, it was Takahashi's boy who disappeared, then Minamoto's girl next."

The wife nodded. "But, two days ago, our son went missing. He's a great boy. Works hard, always lets us know whenever he leaves, especially now. He wouldn't disappear like this."

Drinking his tea, the man continued. "We saw three people with uniforms like yours. Said something about demons, but they never returned."

Makomo slowly nodded, absorbing the information. "How long ago did they come? Do you know where they're at now?"

Finishing his drink, the man answered. "I'd say about a few days ago. And no, haven't seen them since. Some of us think your group is involved. I told them that's foolish. Why come now if that was the case?"

Thanking the couple for their hospitality, Makomo and Murata left.

"Before you came, I explored around and found several caves by the coast. Do you think a demon would hide there?" Murata asked.

Makomo shrugged. "There's also the nearby forest. For a demon, there's plenty of safety during the day."

Murata sent his crow to scout the forests.

The land, shaped like a crescent moon, housed cliffs on both sides while the village sat between them. The ocean waves pushed back and forth, shaping the land around it.

"The cliffs," Makomo said, "you said you found the caves at the bottom of them?"

Murata nodded as they walked toward the caves.

Naturally formed, but it still made a good place to hide if you were a demon.

The sun rose slowly, illuminating the entrances. Beyond that, it was impossibly dark. Murata blinked a few times to wonder if it was an illusion.

Entering the cave, Makomo's crow carried a bright lamp to fight the dark.

Murata held another lamp in his hand just in case. Even so, he felt incredibly cramped despite the cave's vastness.

It was a strange feeling. He could visually see how large the cave was. Makomo's crow had no problem flying up, down, and around. Looking more carefully, Murata could see the structure of the walls and ceiling. The cave itself was forcefully expanded, like it was mined or drilled. Squinting, Murata noticed scratch marks at several locations.

Makomo spoke quietly, scaring Murata.

"You see them as well, right?"

He nodded. "The demon must have done this."

She did not confirm or deny. She took something out of her clothes and sprinkled it on the ground at specific intervals. "Let's keep moving."

Deeper in the cave, they found a dead boy's body. His eyes remained frozen in agony, his limbs were bent in all the wrong ways, and there laid a dead crow next to him.

Makomo frowned. "This is one of ours. But the blood's dry."

Murata found another body. A younger boy who was still alive!

His pulse was weak, and his wrists were bleeding blood. He went to bandage them as quickly as possible, but Makomo's warning cut him short.

"Above you!"

Murata ducked, feeling the displaced air above him. A second later and his head would've been torn off.

Makomo moved close to Murata as they both unsheathed their swords. The demon softly landed in front of them.

When the demon opened his eyes, Murata's chest tightened.

Lower Moon Six

A demon moon. It was the weakest of them all, but these were Muzan's strongest demons.

Can we do this?

Shaking his head, Murata tried clearing his mind.

It didn't matter. As demon slayers, this was their entire purpose.

The demon gazed at them, then scoffed.

Neither of them looked like any of the hashira his other compatriots encountered, so they had to be low-ranking fodder.

Makomo charged straight ahead, her blade grazing flesh. The demon dodged, but his neck suffered a small cut.

Bringing his hand to his neck, the demon did not rage or turn feral. He merely grinned.

"Get the boy out of here!" Makomo ordered as she and the demon exchanged blows.

Murata, without question, swiftly bandaged the bleeding boy and carried him on his back, sprinting to safety.

But the darkness of the cave, even with the lamp, was penetrating. It was difficult to tell if he was moving deeper in the cave or getting closer to the exit.

Murata was not ignorant. Such an unnatural atmosphere meant one thing:

This demon must possess a blood demon art.

-

Nobunaga was Murata's crow.

She was honestly disappointed when she first saw him. His unremarkable stature and presence lacked something crucial. It meant he was probably going to die soon.

That line of thinking made her sad more than anything else. A good crow should strive to help their owner, but a crow could not fight a demon.

There was only so much they could do, and so Nobunaga worked on pushing Murata with endless orders, making sure he received the necessary experience to survive.

If one were to remain a demon slayer, then experience was by far the single most vital benchmark to surviving.

Leaving the forest, Nobunaga flew towards the coast. Nothing important was hiding in the woods and she wanted to report that as quickly as possible.

Then, she saw another crow diving towards her.

"Reinforcements! Reinforcements!" Makomo's crow cried.

Slapping the younger bird with her wing, she commanded him to explain the situation.

With its endless worrying, she allowed him to continue his journey.

Meanwhile, Nobunaga flew straight towards the cave.

-

Seeing as how the lantern become weaker and weaker against the dark despite losing none of its strength, Murata could only come to one conclusion:

The demon's ability allowed him to darken an area and muffle light.

Such an ability would be devastating if it could be used out in the day. Seeing as how the demon made its lair in a cold, barely-lit place, perhaps it wasn't that potent.

Even so, forcing others to fight in its own battlefield was an undeniable advantage. Especially in the dark, where it was nearly impossible to see.

The battle clashed away from him, allowing Murata to slap the boy awake. He stirred slowly, about to scream before Murata muffled the boy's mouth.

"Do you feel this?" Murata gave a piece of wisteria to the boy.

"...yes."

"Stay low to the ground, and keep straight. We left behind small patches of wisteria. Follow it and get out. And if you hear a crow, follow its voice."

The boy, without further explanation, began crawling as swiftly as possible.

Murata regained his bearing and ran towards the source of the battle.

"Behind you!"

Rolling away, Murata felt the sensation of sharp claws ripping his skin.

Makomo, breathing heavily, pulled Murata up, and they were back to back, keeping their guard up.

Water Breathing, Fourth Form: Striking Tide

The demon, sensing the attack, dodged the barrage of slashes and retreated in the shadow.

"His ability. He spreads darkness and hides in it, waiting to attack," Makomo said. "Don't waste your energy, just be ready to defend."

Nodding, Murata kept a steady stance. Covering each other's backs, the demon could not easily overwhelm them. On the other hand, neither Murata or Makomo could get a killing blow on the demon.

Unfortunately for them, the lack of light made it impossible to leave. Even if they prepared to run away, there was no telling which direction they'd go.

"To your left!" Makomo yelled.

The demon shifted position. Instead of Murata, he pounced towards Makomo.

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Makomo successfully cut the demon's arm off, but it simply retreated into the dark again.

The cycle continued, both of them garnering more wounds as the demon slowly, yet patiently pressured them.

The longer the battle continued, the worse their chances became.

"I have an idea," Murata proposed. Makomo frowned, but didn't object to it.

Murata suddenly rushed wildly, one hand inside his bag while the other gripped his sword.

The demon chased after him, eager for blood. The moment he extended his arm towards Murata's ribs, the world exploded with bright lights.

Murata threw the bag of fireworks away, swinging his sword to cut the demon's leg off.

Screaming in anger, the demon kicked Murata away with its other leg. His vision flashed and he felt a crack in his left side.

Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel

Makomo leapt through the air and cut the demon's neck off. After the exhausting movement, she stumbled to the ground, her sword keeping her stable.

Murata tried to keep his breathing even, but his broken rib made even shallow breaths painful. He could see the shadows gradually retreat as the demon disappeared.

It was still dark, but no longer was it suffocating.

Shifting himself to open his medical supplies, he gasped in pain again.

He passed out as reinforcements arrived.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Murata stirred in his sleep. He turned, he twisted, and he groaned like an old man.

Slowly, he looked around. His bedding was sprawled chaotically around the room. The sun made him squint his eyes and his body weighed like stone. Remembering the events of the previous day, he shot up. The sudden movement made him wince in pain.

"Please be careful," an old lady poured him a cup of tea and began rolling new bandages. Out of self-dignity, he insisted on bandaging himself as he drank the warm tea.

Taking in a deep breath, he thanked the gods above for surviving his first demon moon encounter. But his performance and lack of ability against a stronger opponent left him unsatisfied.

Making his way to the garden, he saw Makomo. When she noticed him, she greeted him cheerfully.

"You were out for three days," she told him, "the kakushi wanted to take you to the Butterfly Estate, but the wisteria house was closer."

Murata grunted. He still felt horrible after all that rest.

"It's going to take several weeks for the rest of your wounds to heal," Makomo said.

He understood. That being said, he abandoned self-dignity and planted his face on the ground.

"Please teach me!"

Makomo, flustered by the sudden change in demeanor, laughed and accepted.

-

It goes without saying that just because one had a good teacher, it did not mean that student would be any more capable of instructing.

"No, no," Makomo slapped him on the back hard. It caused the scars on his back to tremble.

Makomo breathed in deeply, then exhaled out. She continued this pattern for several cycles before opening her eyes again.

"You need to breathe from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Do not breathe unconsciously. Breathe purposefully, like you would die otherwise."

"I don't really understand what you mean," Murata complained. They sat right outside the room, watching the sky and its stars. Since his injuries prevented any intense physical training, she decided Murata should focus on his breathing technique.

After assessing him, she came to a horrifying realization. This boy somehow managed with the bare minimum and it was only due to his physique and unorthodox thinking that he was still alive.

Shaking her head, she explained again. "It's not enough to concentrate your breathing only during battle, or only when using a breathing form. Everyday, every moment, you should be breathing like you're fighting to exhaustion. Even when you eat and sleep."

Murata nodded, absorbing her words. It wasn't that he didn't conceptually understand it. It was a matter of making it happen.

He couldn't. He didn't have the tools or a mentor to keep him accountable. When he slept, he slept. If he forced himself to wake up every time his breathing was off, he would die from sleep deprivation.

"How about this," Makomo interrupted his thoughts, "I, along with two of the kakushi resting here, will beat you if at any point during your sleep, you lose focus on the proper breathing."

Murata shivered. He realized this plan would have him become a living zombie.

"How about we take it nice and slow?" After all, he was no prodigy.

Makomo's smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Ah, but we don't have time for such luxuries. Don't worry though, I learned in a similar manner. We'll have you stronger in no time!"

Murata would much rather fight Lower Moon Six again than face Makomo.

-

"Ack!"

"Sorry, sir. She instructed us to do this," a kakushi member smacked him with a stick.

Murata howled in pain again.

Makomo looked away in guilt, but hardened her face and whacked him. "If you start breathing properly, we won't have to hit you."

Murata wanted to run away. He really did, but there was no chance of escape.

He braced himself, physically and mentally.

-

The routine continued, and while Murata wasn't perfect, he was slowly able to claw back some sleep.

As a result of his improved breathing proficiency, his wounds started healing faster. In the morning, he refocused his attention on running. Not only did it help his physical conditioning, Makomo also recommended increasing the pace to further hone his breath.

Their training sessions eventually ended when Makomo received her new blade. The swordsmith, satisfied with his craft, happily left as several kakushi accompanied him.

Murata's blade was still fine, though he had to buy a new whetstone to sharpen it.

Bowing to Makomo, Murata expressed his sincere gratitude.

"It was also a learning experience for me," she admitted. "Giyu and Sabito would always run away when I visited, so I never got the chance to act as the elder disciple."

Murata understood the reason why. If he ever met them, violence was the only answer.

She pulled out a piece of paper. "If you see them, don't be afraid to become friends! I'm especially worried about Giyu."

She gave him a drawing of the two boys. Luckily, Murata was already aware of their appearance. Otherwise, he would probably be offended by the drawing.

How could this help him distinguish either of them? Giyu looked like a tree ornament while Sabito resembled a peach sapling.

Makomo did claim to draw as a hobby, but it was definitely not her talent.

Murata pocketed the paper while thanking her.

She smiled, waving goodbye as she continued her next mission.

-

After the owner of the wisteria house proclaimed him to be fully recovered, Murata set out on his own journey.

Since the defeat of Lower Moon Six, Murata was reassigned to Chubu. Instead of being stationed mostly in the north, he remained in the southern half of the region.

"East!"

Nobunaga circled around, keeping an eye out.

Sometimes, Murata wondered about the nature of fate. Considering his circumstances, it wasn't a strange thing at all.

It was merely speculation on his part that certain situations were influenced by a guiding hand. A divine or unnatural blessing, if you will. Though, considering the Ubuyashiki family, it was probably not that far-fetched.

Other times, Murata felt abandoned by all the good in the world.

Currently, he was stuck feeling abandoned. When he woke up and continued walking along a neglected path, Murata saw someone he would prefer never to meet in person.

Shinazugawa Sanemi looked like an insane weapons collector. At first glance, Murata noticed two hatchets, an axe, two staves, and a sword.

He was laughing as the sun rose. A demon hung weakly from a rope, shrieking in pain as the sun purified him.

Considering his less than efficient methods, this meant Sanemi was not a demon slayer yet.

When the demon disappeared, they locked eyes with each other.

Sanemi grunted, not caring the least about how he looked. To an ordinary person, it would look like he just killed a man in broad daylight.

Upon seeing Murata's outfit, Sanemi glared at him. "Are you kidding me? Who do you even think you are?"

"I'm a demon slayer," Murata said, holding back his tone.

He did not expect Sanemi to burst out laughing. Murata's hand twitched as the scarred boy held his sides in laughter.

"You call yourself a demon slayer?" Sanemi snorted. "I bet you can hardly hold that sword!"

Nobunaga cried out in anger, pecking him.

"East! East!"

Murata decided then and there that encountering this boy was a mistake. He would only be tormented at this rate.

Turning to leave, his arm was gripped tightly.

Slightly terrified, Murata craned his head towards Sanemi.

"Take me with you. Prove to me you're one of them, and I'll believe you."

Internally groaning, Murata looked towards the cloudless sky.

-

The demon swore as it crumbled.

"Curse you! Curse your ancestors! Curse your cow–!"

Breathing deeply, Murata sheathed his blade and sat next to a tree. Nearby, Sanemi clicked his tongue in begrudging acknowledgment.

"Send me to your trainer."

"I can't."

"You afraid of me becoming better?"

Murata held back a swear. "It's because he's dead."

"Then teach me."

"I can't."

"What's with you!?" Sanemi complained.

"I'm not qualified to do so."

"Doesn't matter, it's my choice."

Murata gazed at his sheathe for answers that didn't exist. He could only brace for the inevitable conflict.

–

"Whatever the hell you said didn't make any sense," Sanemi said.

Swinging his sword, Sanemi practiced the first form of water breathing.

Combined with Murata's minimal teaching experience and Sanemi's lack of compatibility with water breathing, it was no wonder he was barely making progress.

The fact that progress was even being made at all surprised Murata.

Since Sanemi already had a strong physical foundation, they moved on to breathing and sword techniques.

For someone like Sanemi, who wouldn't stay still for the world, it was easier to train both at the same time,. So, Murata had Sanemi swing and breathe in tandem.

While Sanemi understood the concept of the breath, he had a mental conflict with water breathing.

His physique and personality clashed with it in all the wrong ways. Murata knew Sanemi needed wind breathing, but he didn't know anyone that used it.

"There are different types of breathing, but just being used to the sensation is a good start. I can already tell water breathing isn't for you," Murata explained.

"Hah? So why the hell are you making me do this in the first place?"

"Because you forced me. And I never claimed to be a good teacher."

Sanemi was not happy with this at all.

Yes, the unexceptional boy killed that demon way faster than he could, but his technique was still off. Sanemi didn't need to be a swordsman to perceive things like that.

"I'm thinking this doesn't suit you either," Sanemi said.

Murata froze and stopped his breathing exercises. Was it becoming noticeable enough that even the inexperienced Sanemi sensed it?

A hot flash of rage consumed him.

How did such people exist that he looked so useless in comparison? Makomo had the makings of a hashira in only two years and Sanemi, as green as he was, gained immediate insights on Murata's weaknesses.

It's people like this that made Murata question the fairness of the world.

Why did they have the inherent strength to protect so many? What about them was so special? What did they have that he lacked?

Before his thoughts overwhelmed him, Murata slapped himself.

It surprised Sanemi, who had just sat down to take a break.

Murata quickly wrote a letter, nearly crushing his brush in the process. Attaching it to Nobunaga, she flew in haste.

He had no reasonable ideas, so he let fate decide.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

The Ubuyashiki family was a strange one.

By virtue of being born, their lives were automatically cut short. Instead of reaching old age, they would burn out and die before thirty.

Once Muzan became a demon and began defiling the natural order, a curse came upon the family. The children were born sickly, bearing a mark that would spread throughout their body as they aged.

The punishment was clear. If Muzan, the shame of their family, continued living, then they would continue suffering.

The current leader of the Demon Slayer Corps was Ubuyashiki Kagaya.

Despite his frail body, he possessed a strength few had. Not only did he faithfully carry the burdens of a leader, his calm demeanor and compassionate nature made him a beloved person.

To carry hate towards the man was impossible.

Kagaya even had another talent that his family rarely boasted. His unmatched foresight was a blessing, yet it often felt burdensome.

In his long family line, he was far from the only one with such an ability. But his talent in it was among the best.

However, it wasn't always like that. About three years ago, the Demon Slayer Corps nearly lost its leader, and very few were aware of it.

Soon after turning 14, Kagaya fell into a small coma. At the time, only his wife, Amane, and the newly promoted Stone Hashira, Gyomei, were taking care of him, making sure to keep the organization running behind the scenes.

It was especially stressful for Amane since she had to also take care of their children. All five of them.

When a month passed by and Kagaya awoke, his eyes possessed a tranquil gleam. It was as if he saw something that set his mind at peace.

When asked about the abrupt change, Kagaya would smile.

"Something changed. So much so, not even buddha or the gods could comprehend it."

However, the gift of foresight was still difficult to discern, even for Kagaya. He compared it most often to dreams. Some dreams made so much sense. They could be understood and easy to follow. On the other hand, some dreams left people confused, irritable, and foggy.

Knowing what to act on and what to avoid was its own journey.

Amane was eternally grateful for his recovery, but it accelerated his cursed mark faster than anticipated. But she would remain at his side, working tirelessly.

On a clear, cloudless day, a crow arrived at the Ubuyashiki estate. This on its own wasn't strange. Kagaya would personally assign demon slayers to specific missions, and have a small, permanently attached group of kakushi help write the missives and attach them to the crows, if necessary. Otherwise, he would have the crows relay verbal instructions.

This crow had a letter addressed to no one in particular, yet she decided to deliver it to him. Taking it, Kagaya began reading it, noting the sloppy handwriting and its demanding orders.

Then he laughed. A quiet, amused, and delightful laugh that helped ease some of the tension in his heart.

Amane, hearing the laugh of her husband, immediately made her way to his side.

Immediately, he understood the person behind this letter. After all, the writings and ramblings of a person tell a lot about who they were, even if they didn't talk about themselves.

All of a sudden, several of his premonitions and vague visions started to become transparent. Before, it felt like wading through a dark tunnel, trying to discern where to go.

Now, a light illuminated it, helping him see the path forward. The tunnel stretched endlessly, but he could see clearer than ever.

He whispered to himself, his soft voice further catching Amane's attention.

"Kagaya?"

Turning to his wife, Kagaya smiled at her. "I believe I found a reason behind my unexpected illness. Why the answer appeared now when it was so close to me before, I don't know. But I want to hold on to this opportunity, and help it along, if at all possible."

Amane, for her part, nodded and left Kagaya to his own devices.

Picking up a brush, he personally began writing a letter. He attached it to Nobunaga, her wings flapping as she flew away.

Shift the gears of change, Murata. Maybe this way, more of his children would survive.

-

Ubuyashiki Amane was a priestess from a long line of religious leaders.

She was also the wife of Kagaya. It meant that when he said something, it was best to leave it at that. She may not get the answer today, tomorrow, or even a season from now, but the answer will eventually make sense.

It was the kind of man he was. Not purposefully mysterious, but he just saw the world differently. Some people may see it as aloof or naive, but she appreciated his perspective and wisdom even at such a young age.

She was also a leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. Most people will never see her again after Final Selection, but the role she committed to herself had large implications for the organization.

It was one thing for someone like Kagaya to possess knowledge that would benefit the organization and family, but another to implement said knowledge. Amane made sure of the latter.

Working on her own, she poured through the records of their nearly millennia long history.

Finally arriving at the Sengoku period, the so-called "Golden Age" of the Demon Slayer Corps, she began her research.

While the original breath and its creator were lost, maybe his descendants were still alive.

-
A week later, Kagaya organized the promotion of a new hashira.

It was wonderful news. No one died and one more would join the ranks. He'd be so bold as to claim that in the near future, the strength of the demon slayers would be equal to those during the Sengoku period.

"Ishikawa Makomo, there's no need to stand on ceremony. You are the Water Hashira, and it is my honor to have you as such," Kagaya said.

Despite his small request, she, alongside the other hashira, remained as respectful and courteous as possible. It went beyond simple obedience to a leader. The hashira, who acted as pillars of the organization, would die for him.

It warmed his heart as much as it concerned him. But if they felt the need to act in such a manner, he would not force them to do otherwise.

Seeing the group of demon slayers together, Kagaya felt light. Each step, not matter how small, was building up to Muzan's downfall.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

As a generally agreeable person, Murata had very few grievances with people. After all, demons were the only enemies he bore true hatred for.

Though he could make an exception for Sanemi. Even though they were around the same age, with Murata even being born earlier in the year, Sanemi's brash and often unrepentant bluntness was grating on the nerves.

"Are you just slow, or stupid?" Sanemi gestured towards Murata's glass vials. "If I put my blood in those, I'd look like a damn lunatic!"

Not like you weren't already one, what with all your weapons and scars.

"Besides, when I'm the one bleeding, the demons go on a frenzy towards me, which is exactly what I want."

"Yes, well, do you have to make a new scar every time you fight that way?" Murata asked.

Sanemi looked away, ignoring the question.

They traveled to the nearby town, gathering supplies and staying at the nearby inn. Since Sanemi had no future in water breathing, Murata decided to jump straight to the training that Makomo helped him through.

Maintaining the proper breathing, even during sleep, didn't require a specific breathing art. Just having the natural ability to use breathing forms was enough to start right away.

The only reason why more students didn't begin with this training was because their physical bodies couldn't keep up. If one was too unprepared, then death was actually a possibility.

Sanemi had fought demons without the help of the Demon Slayer Corps. His strong nature already made him more formidable than some newly trained demon slayers.

Whether that spoke to the vastly inconsistent training between the slayers or Sanemi's own prodigious abilities, Murata couldn't tell.

Sanemi, after receiving instructions from Murata, went to sleep. Breathing was simple. He would not be caught off guard.

-

"You'll pay for this!" Sanemi grunted as Murata whacked him with a stick.

"You lose sleep at first, but you'll learn in no time," Murata said.

It was a good way to ease some of his tension. It wasn't that Murata liked torturing Sanemi, but this was probably the only time he would have the opportunity to do so. Once Sanemi actually became a demon slayer, he would rise through the ranks and quickly outpace him.

He had no doubt in his mind about that.

Was it short-sighted and petty? Of course it was. But it did not matter to Murata, because the satisfaction it gave him was better than food.

Murata also worked on his technique. It didn't do well to slack off, after all. A teacher should serve as an example. Even if the teacher was absolutely not qualified to teach.

-

Some time later, Nobunaga found both of them. Murata was surprised how quickly she returned. Taking the missive from her leg, he let the crow guide them.

After reading the letter, Murata felt a huge sense of relief. He would soon be rid of Sanemi and could continue his own missions.

Frankly, he was shocked that his unprofessional plea worked. It would be like if an employee demanded the owner of the company for a raise, and the owner actually went through with said demand.

But he was losing his temper. Honestly, Murata would rather face an Upper Moon than be in Sanemi's presence for any longer.

They met up with the demon slayer who was assigned to find them.

Seeing the jagged scars on the slayer's left cheek, Murata had no doubt who it was.

"My only mission so far without having to kill a demon, but there's a first time for everything!" Kumeno Masachika said.

Sanemi looked at Murata with a sour expression.

Breaking through the silence, Murata introduced himself, with Sanemi doing the same.

After getting each other's names, they sat around a makeshift campfire.

With his hand on his chin, Masachika nodded. "I see. So, you're saying he," Masachika pointed at Sanemi, "is a clear fit for wind breathing?"

Murata affirmed.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Sanemi muttered before being shushed by Murata.

"Hmm, I want to confirm my own doubts first," Masachika said.

Wind Breathing, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter

The nearby tree was utterly eviscerated, its fall scaring the birds out of the forest.

"What do you think? Do you understand it?" Masachika looked back at them.

Sanemi scoffed, but prepared his stance regardless. Gripping his sword, he took in a deep breath.

Wind Breathing, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter

The forest rumbled from the force of Sanemi's swing. Sanemi stumbled and fell on the ground.

"Amazing," Murata sarcastically praised, "it's like he was born for this."

"That was incredible. It was sloppy, but I've never seen such natural affinity!" Masachika sincerely complimented. "There's no doubt, I'll definitely show you the way to my teacher."

Standing up, Sanemi stopped to stare at his hands. He'd get stronger in no time!

Murata suddenly felt a chill in his spine.

-

Masachika's teacher lived in the Kanto region. Since they were already at southeastern Chubu, the journey didn't take very long.

His teacher was, unsurprisingly, old. However, despite Murata's imagination, this man retained all of his limbs. It was a good thing. It meant he likely retired due to age.

Taira Kenji was shorter than all three of them, yet his ferocity remained unmatched. Murata was disturbed how well it clashed with Sanemi's own presence.

In another life, maybe they fought side by side as compatriots.

Sitting at a long table, the estate's maid prepared tea for the demon slayers.

Taira took one glance at Sanemi and grinned. "I can already tell. The way you sit, the way you hold yourself. Wind breathing is perfect for you."

Sanemi stared hard at the old man. He didn't smile, but it was a close thing.

After finishing a meal cooked by the only maid, Sanemi and Taira moved to the garden for an initial evaluation.

Meanwhile, Masachika and Murata shared demon slaying stories with each other.

"A Tsuchinoto, huh?" Masachika said.

Murata nodded. "How about you?"

"I joined about three years ago but I'm a Kinoto now. A few more missions and I could very well be a hashira, haha!" Masachika lightly said. "Though, I don't seem to have your luck. Meeting a demon moon as a Kanato, and surviving? I'd lose that bet."

Murata, despite the slight insult, laughed. This boy was like a cheerful dog. Murata couldn't help but smile whenever he was in the company of Masachika.

"Aren't you staying the night?" Masachika asked.

Murata shook his head. "I really shouldn't. I'm about to head out for my next mission." He waited for his crow to relay directions, but she stood silently, staring at him.

Cursed bird! Couldn't she take a hint?

Masachika laughed. "My teacher won't mind. Just stay the night and then you can leave in the morning."

It would be rude to decline, so Murata prepared the bedding and slept.

-

When Murata woke up, he saw Sanemi twisting and turning in his sleep, which only irritated his newly-formed bruises. Getting up for the day, Murata sat outside, admiring the sky.

A wooden sword collided with his head, forcing him to taste the dirt. Even now, the ground served to remind him of his place in the world.

"Get up!" Taira yelled. "Show me your best!"

Murata grasped the sword with both hands and observed Masachika's teacher.

Charging forward, he clashed swords with Taira. They whirled around each other, the destruction spreading around the garden. The dirt turned uneven, the dandelions flew away, and the fence started showing cracks.

When Taira's footing found bumpy ground, Murata darted towards his blind spot. Taira immediately prepared a counterattack.

Wind Breathing, Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon

Taira jumped into the air, unleashing a swing towards Murata.

Water Breathing, Sixth Form: Whirlpool

Murata twisted up in the air, meeting the attack head on.

They exchanged several more barrages against one another.

Eventually, Taira motioned Murata to stop. They rested shortly before walking back inside to eat breakfast. Sanemi and Masachika joined them at the table.

"Well," Taira said while looking Murata up and down. "I've met worse water breathers. That being said, can I take a look at your blade?"

Without a reason to object, Murata handed his nichirin sword to Taira.

Unsheathing it, he observed the color and pattern. The specks were larger than before and what was once very light blue was closer to teal.

"This isn't a typical water breather blade. Something's wrong with you," Taira said.

Murata stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. Sanemi held in his amusement, while Masachika ignored the conversation, simply eating his food.

Coughing to end the awkward silence, Taira spoke up again. "That's all I have. If you want, you can watch us practice our forms."

Seeing as how Nobunaga had nothing to report to him, Murata decided he had little to lose. At the very least, Sanemi's attention was being grabbed by Taira and Masachika.

How bad could it be?

-

It turned out that watching quickly turned into practice. And horrifyingly, Murata wasn't half bad at wind breathing. The only downside wasn't the art itself, but merely the fact that he had to spar with Sanemi.

Sanemi picked up wind breathing like a fish to water.

"It works and yet it doesn't," Taira noted, observing Murata.

After nearly three weeks, Murata was able to perform the first two forms.

"Do you think Sanemi is ready to take Final Selection?" Masachika asked.

Taira shook his head. "I'd give it a couple more months before I feel confident. Not that he couldn't pass, but I don't like to leave things to chance."

Before long, the crows returned with news, which meant Masachika and Murata had to attend to their respective missions.

"Keep practicing on your own. You'll find your own answer soon enough," Taira told Murata.

Murata automatically nodded, looking as if he was still processing something important.

Masachika clapped Murata on the back. "I'll see you again one day! When that time comes, I hope for the best."

Going their respective ways, Murata left the Kansai region while Masachika headed north towards Tohoku.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

While reading and watching Demon Slayer, I initially thought to myself:

How difficult could it be to keep this timeline within canon?

Turns out, it's a bit confusing. For example, we know that Sanemi and Giyu are the same age. They're both 21, and furthermore, Giyu was actually born earlier in the year than Sanemi was. Or maybe Sanemi was born the year prior, which would make him a few months older. Either way, they're about the same age.

We also know that Giyu became hashira before Sanemi did. In Sanemi's promotion, we see Gyomei, Tengen, Kanae, and Giyu as already established hashira.

I think it's safe to say that Giyu joined the corps before Sanemi did. Sanemi joined later, but likely progressed a bit faster due to his experience fighting demons before joining, and his battle against Lower Moon One, in which he was the only survivor. Basically, an automatic promotion.

Why do I mention this?

Mainly because I had no damn clue where to put Makomo. Was she before Sabito and Giyu, or after them?

The only reason I put her before them is because I think it would be strange for Giyu to do nothing if he was the senior student. Like, he didn't visit his teacher in that time? On the other hand, it would make sense considering Giyu's guilt, so he would retreat into himself further and only complete his missions.

Considering his amicable relationship with Urokodaki, I would find it hard to believe he didn't keep in contact with Urokodaki. By extension, I would find it reasonable for Urokodaki to mention he took in another student. If he didn't, then Makomo was likely a student prior to Giyu and Sabito.

Anyway, back to ages. Murata's age is not specified. We know that in canon, he was in the same Final Selection as Giyu. Murata is at the very minimum older than Tanjiro and company.

In this fic, I have Murata the same age as Giyu and Sanemi.

So, a rundown (this contains spoilers for future chapters):

When Murata trains with his teacher Sato, I pinned him at around 12. He spends a year training, and takes Final Selection at 13. This would have him taking Final Selection earlier than Giyu, and is the reason why Makomo is there.

Makomo in this fic is about the same age. She's around 13 when she takes Final Selection. I can't imagine her older than that, and honestly, she looks like a kid in the anime. Whether her family was poor or rich, we don't know. Maybe she just didn't eat enough.

By chapter 3, Murata goes through a two year time skip between his first mission and the Lower Moon Six encounter. This guy ain't Tanjiro, so he isn't blitzing through the ranks in a year or finding Demon Moons like they're Pokemon. Murata will fight some, but it's not supposed to be a common occurrence.

In the original story, all the events between Final Selection and Infinity Castle took place in just over a year or so (it really highlights Tanjiro's growth).

So, Makomo and Murata fight Lower Moon Six at age 15. Makomo becomes a hashira shortly after.

In chapter 5, Murata meets Sanemi for the first time. So, Sanemi is about 15 or so. We don't know how old Sanemi was when he killed his mother, but the oldest I would put is about 13. So, Sanemi's been very lucky and killing demons for about a year and a half to two years all by himself.

From chapters 6 to 8, between training, normal missions, and his journey into the Eternal Paradise cult, Murata turns 16.

I'll update this as the fic gets longer, but this is a tentative timeline, and subject to change.

It doesn't help that the original manga is kinda unclear as well. As an example, consider the hashira's age by the time of Tanjiro's trial:

Gyomei is the oldest by far, probably around 27. We know that at 18, almost 19, he was going to be executed before being saved by Kagaya. I believe here Gyomei mentions Kagaya being 4 years younger than him. So by extention, Kagaya is about 23.

Next is Tengen. He's the same age as Kagaya, and we see in Tengen's flashback that Kagaya's scar didn't extend very far into his face. I also think it's safe to say Tengen was a hashira before Giyu, though in Tengen's flashback, we see all three of his wives. I have no clue when he gets each wife.

Giyu is likely next. We know that he joined early and he's about 21. And it was already mentioned earlier that he was hashira before Sanemi.

Sanemi is 21 and the next one to be a hashira among the canon lineup.

Obanai is actually the same age as Giyu and Sanemi. He's older than Sanemi but younger than Giyu. We don't know when he became a hashira though, but it would have to be after Rengoku and before Mitsuri.

Next oldest is Rengoku, who's 20. We know he was hashira after Sanemi, because Sanemi was the one who expressed doubt in Rengoku's ability to pick up the title after his father. It was only after fighting Lower Moon Two that Rengoku promoted.

Mitsuri is 19 and likely the last one to be promoted as hashira. We know that she trained under Rengoku. Honestly, with more experience, she could have become even more dangerous.

Shinobu is 18 and become a hashira at 16. I believe she ranked up right around the time Giyu spared Nezuko, and he was 19 at that point. I haven't read the Tomioka Gaiden, so maybe she was hashira for longer than that.

Last is Muichirou at 14. He became a hashira in two months. He's a speedrunner for sure.

Anyway, for this fic, we got Murata, Makomo, Sanemi, Giyu, and Sabito in the same ballpark, agewise. I mentally consider them to be their generation's version of the Tanjiro squad. Currently heavy with water breathers, which is subject to change.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

As a Tsuchinoto, Murata was right in the middle of the demon slayer hierarchy.

Like any hierarchy, the higher one goes, the less people there were. For example, the current hashira consisted of only five individuals.

As someone ranked in the middle, Murata had the widest range of missions. After all, a hashira wouldn't be assigned to kill any random demon, but at the same time, a Mizunoto who just joined wouldn't be assigned to investigate the sighting of a demon moon. At least, they shouldn't be.

That being said, the Demon Slayer Corps had a severe lack of personnel. Not a surprise as most people would not sacrifice their life to do such a thing. Additionally, the organization, in its one thousand year history, never conscripted people.

The middle ranks were perfect to clean up fodder or to fight stronger demons too weak for a hashira to deal with.

As a result, some missions would take less than a night, involving an insignificant demon. It was still important to kill them, but in the grand scheme of things, a hashira could kill dozens or hundreds of them.

On the other hand, some assignments could take weeks. Demons varied wildly, and the methods and tactics they used to hide from demon slayers ranged from pitifully sad to nearly impossible.

Encountering an Upper Moon was one of those nearly impossible things. Meeting one meant certain death. It was why such little information could be found about them. They were really good at killing demon slayers.

After several months of routine missions, Nobunaga delivered a letter about an investigation of a potential Lower Moon sighting.

Since the location was in the Chugoku region and Murata was already there, it would take a couple days to reach the specific town in question. Stopping at the nearby village, he gathered his supplies and made the trek.

-

On his way, he met with a kakushi, who relayed him some basic facts of the mission.

The kakushi were a support entity. They occasionally carried out reconnaissance missions alongside demon slayers, mostly for situational awareness. However, they did not engage with demons themselves because they weren't trained for it. They also cooked, cleaned, guard wisteria houses, protect information, write reports, performed medical aid, and several other things.

Without them, the average demon slayer would've walked in circles before fighting their first demon. They were very important.

"There have been reports of missing demon slayers within this area of the Chugoku region," the kakushi showed Murata a map, pointing specifically at the north.

"The crows have also been killed, indicating that the demon is aware of their role and is trying to mask its existence. We spoke with one of the merchants that travel in and out of the area, and we recorded the conversation," the kakushi handed a piece of paper to Murata.

He stared at it for a few minutes before he finished reading it.

The kakushi cleared her throat, summarizing the conversation. "He said the people were kind and helpful. They hold a devotion to their unnamed leader in the mountain. But beyond that, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary."

Murata stood petrified as he showed the kakushi the engraving on his rank.

Looking at the engraving, she nodded and continued. "As it stands, we only need more information. Do not engage the demon if you believe the chances of surviving are low. Also, do not hesitate to call for reinforcements if you do fight."

"Do I start now, or is there anything else I need to know?"

The kakushi, after thinking for a few moments, answered. "You can start at the end of next week. For now, we can have you in one of the wisteria houses to prepare."

Murata sighed.

-

Murata trained, practicing his sword and breathing forms. He was nearly at the cusp of enlightenment. He had the makings of a new breathing art.

Too bad this current mission might have him dead.

It was too early to despair, yet he could not help but think of the worst case scenario.

A leader in the mountain, surrounded by people that act kind?

Furthermore, reports of missing demon slayers?

Murata had a good idea of the situation, except he couldn't report anything if he hadn't actually done anything. Besides, he could also be wrong.

He prepared his pack, masquerading as a simple traveler. He would not wear his demon slayer uniform in a place like that. His sword remained sheathed and he had the kakushi modify it to appear more like a walking stick.

After mentally and physically equipping himself, he left the wisteria house and made his way towards the town.

-

"Welcome! You look tired. Do you need a place to stay?" A girl approached Murata, trying to tug him towards the inn.

Murata let himself be led and rented a room. Eating downstairs, he absorbed the atmosphere.

The people ate, they drank, and they laughed. They shared stories, gossip, and plans. Nothing that was remotely useful or damning.

Murata went to sleep early. He managed to rest well, but the ache in his body did not leave. The physical manifestations of his anxiety plagued him.

He walked without a plan, allowing his feet to drag him from street to street. Turning a corner, he saw one man standing on a crate, passionately preaching.

People walked by, either busy for the day or sharply avoiding him.

"Eternal paradise awaits for us all! One just has to let go of all the suffering in the world and be absorbed by the enlightenment of our great teacher," he said.

His gaze landed on Murata.

"Young man!" He called out. Murata pretended to play as the confused bystander, and watched as the man closed in on him.

"Do you understand happiness? The idea of freeing yourself from the grief of this world?"

Murata shook his head.

"Feel free to join us. Everyday, more and more followers trek towards the mountain to receive the blessings of our leader. He works tirelessly, happily speaking with each and every person. Man, woman, child. Young or old. Rich or poor. None of these things matter. Only the essence of your heart is his desire!"

"The 'essence of my heart?'" Murata questioned.

The young man laughed, explaining himself. "Yes, your heart. He sees many things, including those who sincerely wish to understand and receive enlightenment. They are the worthy ones. Listen to our wise teacher, and not only can you achieve bliss, but you can become better than you are now."

There was a certain madness in the young man's eyes. He unquestionably believed every word he said, and shared nothing but excitement for it.

It was disturbing to witness and it only served to drive a certain conclusion. But Murata needed more information.

"You said everyday, he speaks with those who seek him?"

The young man nodded happily like a dog. "I can even lead the way now."

"I'd like to meet him," Murata said slowly.

The young man grabbed Murata's hand, eagerly beginning the journey to the mountain.

-

It did take time, but the journey was shorter than Murata expected. He did have to wrangle his hand away from the young worshipper.

He wanted to wash his hand. It felt stained with lunacy.

As they made their way up, Murata gaped at the temple. It was beautifully crafted, appearing old and new at the same time. The property was large, housing several tall buildings and a courtyard capable of housing hundreds of people.

It was truly stunning to look at. It felt like a painting made to life.

Murata perceived the area as a work of art, but it lacked a soul. He did not feel warm or welcomed. It was the opposite. Despite his praise, it was cold and comfortless.

Only a demon would live here and preach about paradise.

Looking ahead, it seemed Murata was not the only person gathered.

The young man smiled. "He's about to come out. There's a lot of new people today," he whispered.

Everyone was gathered in the courtyard, their attention caught by the slowly opening gates.

Two people walked out, preparing a seat.

Then, a tall, pale man stepped out, waving his fans and taking his seat.

Murata gazed at the eyes of the man. The eyes were made up of a fusion of colors, creating a rainbow. They appeared to hold a divine quality.

The eyes had no inscription written on them. It didn't mean much, because the stronger demon moons could hide their rank.

The man made eye contact with Murata, stopping for a moment before turning his gaze elsewhere in the crowd.

He suddenly laughed. It was light, yet effortlessly carried itself across the courtyard.

At first, the people looked around each other. Seeing nothing happen, some of them began to laugh as well. More and more people laughed, until everyone began laughing together.

Murata joined in only to blend with the crowd.

As the noise died down, he spoke.

"What a wonderful night. My name is not important, but if you wish to know, I am Douma. I am the leader of Eternal Paradise," Douma said.

He took out his fans again and waved them around. Small particles of ice circulated from them, making Douma appear ethereal. The people remained awed by his movements.

"The world is full of suffering. That is what the great monks and buddhas say. What can we do with such wisdom?"

The people muttered amongst one another.

"My answer is paradise. Let go of suffering, let go of the hardships of life, and be enlightened with eternal paradise. That is the foundation of my teachings. I am here to burden all sorrows and absorb all adversities as the leader of Eternal Paradise. Tonight, I merely told you what I am here to do. Tomorrow, I will tell you what you have to do."

Leaving the crowd behind, Douma retreated into the temple.

Murata was one of the first people to leave, his entire body trembling.

Even when Douma was not fighting, even when he remained calm and still, his demonic presence was unmistakable.

It took Murata significant effort to not run away in fear.

Making his way towards the inn and into his room, he collapsed on the floor.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Observing the town from the window in his room, Murata waited.

When Nobunaga arrived, he opened the window, letting her in. After he attached the letter to her leg, she flew away in the dark.

Having been in the town for about a week, Murata familiarized himself with the layout of it and the surrounding areas.

Not everyone in the town was a member of Eternal Paradise, though most were. The temple that Douma introduced himself in was one of several. The one Murata traveled to served as the staging ground for new initiates. Echelons existed within the mountain itself, and the mountain housed many people.

But without actually joining, Murata would never have access to those places. Douma's reputation spread far, and everyone was aware of him. Despite that, very little was actually known about him.

The common points were that Douma was a charitable, selfless person who was blessed by the divine. Personal details about him were sparse.

Were the higher ranking members aware of Douma's demonic nature? They would have to, wouldn't they?

Douma didn't eat normal food, never appeared in the sun, and he remained impossibly young for over a hundred years.

At the same time, those traits could be twisted to prove he was a blessed and sacred being. A guiding shepherd to his flock.

Murata entered the temple alongside Yuki Yuki.

It was a stupid name, but the young man was so devoted that when he first met Douma, he changed it and didn't answer to anything else. Yuki said that Douma reminded him of the snow.

Douma, upon seeing Yuki, smiled. "My faithful friend! It is great to see you again. Do you have a new aspirant? Does he seek knowledge?"

He nodded, his face twisted in a grin. "Masao is a humble traveler visiting our beautiful town. It would be an honor for him to speak with you."

Douma looked at Murata before facing Yuki. "I will attend to him. For now, you can join one of the congregations outside. They would love to have you!"

Yuki left, humming happily as the door closed. Turning to Murata, Douma began speaking.

"Hello, Masao. I was told you were a traveler, and now you stop to meet me. I wonder why?"

Murata remained stoic. "I'm a traveler, like you said. I've seen people like you preach about suffering, promising a way out of it. Why are you different from them?"

Douma clutched his chest in mocked pain. "How bold. But here in Eternal Paradise, I speak no lies. With my tender care, these people learn about the true nature of the world. Yet, instead of despairing, they become happy."

Walking around the room, Douma carried a vase.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Murata agreed. It was beautiful, if one ignored the artist.

"A friend gifted it to me. He's a bit eccentric, but he means well." Shaking his head, Douma continued.

"Much like this vase, people have a beauty about them. Instead of appreciating their inner self, they worry and suffer in the affairs of the world. However, I am generous, allowing them to offer themselves to me. I will take care of their anguish, their pain, and help them achieve happiness."

"Is that so?"

"Of course! I would be amiss otherwise to fail as a leader. What else do you wish to ask?"

Murata looked around the large room. It held nothing of importance, with the only escape being the door behind him.

"The ice. How did you do that? I've never seen anything like it."

Douma laughed, eagerly demonstrating his fans. Small snowflakes fell from them.

"Once, a man arrived at this mountain, late at night. I learned several things from him, but most importantly, I learned how to better take care of my followers. He gave me a gift, and I tended to it. Eventually, I was able to develop my own gift that some would consider divine."

Murata nodded, patiently asking another question. "What else can it do?"

Douma lit up, having no fear in the world. "So much. I can summon lotuses that spread far, children that can protect others, and a giant bodhisattva. I can even create myself. All of this made up of the ice from my fans."

They sat in silence for a moment. Murata asked another question.

"Who was the man that came to you that night?"

"Before I answer that, may I ask a question of my own?" Douma interrupted.

Murata tensed. He nodded, but shifted his seating.

"I, just like you, have met many people. You, as a traveler. Me, as a leader. But you are one of the few to believe me. You did not, for a single moment, hesitate after I told you about my gift. Most would doubt me, even for a second. But you looked like you were ready to hear my answer."

Douma smiled.

"Why is that?"

Taking in a deep breath, Murata immediately prepared an answer. "Because I've seen things in my journey that ordinary people would not believe in. When I heard word of a leader like you, I had to confirm for myself. If you were a fraud, then so be it. But if you weren't, then maybe this entire life I've lived will be worth something."

Douma clapped. Slow and measured, it broke the silence of the room. Small tears leaked from his eyes.

"A beautiful answer! When one comes to such realizations, I can't help but express my inner bliss. I want to speak more, but I have very many responsibilities. Stay at the temple next to this one, and we will speak again. I am eager to share more of myself and hear your thoughts."

"Would I be able to grab my belongings from the inn?"

Douma waved him off. "Of course, I don't want to rush you! Come back tomorrow."

Handing Murata a medallion, Douma walked away while parting with several words.

"Show that to any of the maidservants, and they can take you to the appropriate building."

Murata returned to the town, rushing to the inn. He burst into his room and wrote as quickly as possible. Leaving the letter in a crack outside the window, he packed up his belongings.

The next morning, he arrived at the temple again. Showing his coin to a nearby maid, she ushered him into one of the buildings.

-

True to Douma's word, they spoke again. Sometimes, it was about Douma's life. Other times, Murata lied about his.

He learned more about Eternal Paradise than he would've liked. It was a simple philosophy and religion centered around Douma as a guiding beacon.

He even wrote a book detailing paradise and how to achieve it. Murata swallowed his disgust and read it multiple times.

If Douma was impressed, then he never said so.

His room contained few luxuries. The only thing of note were his pack and the window. Since he lived in one of the taller buildings, Nobunaga had an easier time hiding in the fog.

Murata had a maid assigned to his room. A shy and reserved girl, Seiko didn't talk much at all. It made talking to her frustrating.

"Anything new today, Seiko?" Murata asked.

She shook her head and began wiping the floor with a damp cloth.

Sighing, Murata trekked to Douma's temple.

Closing the door behind him, Douma smiled at him.

"If you could help me answer a quick question, I'd greatly appreciate it," Douma said.

Pulling out a drawing, Douma unraveled the scroll in front of Murata.

"It's been many years, yet not one of my followers have found this flower."

Murata remained composed. Of course he knew what it was.

"It looks like a red spider lily..."

"Yes, except it's blue. Everyday, I have my followers search for it. I would very much like to hold one in my hand," Douma explained.

Shaking his head, Murata expressed his ignorance. It was the honest truth. His mind tried unraveling where it could be. He remembered a long time ago, but that memory faded away.

Tossing the paper away, Douma chuckled and shrugged it off. "It can't be helped. I didn't expect you to know, after all."

"Do you need the flower for anything?"

Douma lied as easily as he breathed. "It's very rare. It's for that reason I want one."

Abandoning that train of thought, they engaged in a different conversation.

"Do you like the servant I picked out for you?"

"I would prefer not to have one," Murata said.

Douma raised his eyebrows. "Don't people like having others serve them? To see that they're not so insignificant in the world?"

"Maybe some people, but I don't particularly care about that. I don't want someone to serve me just because of who I am."

Douma laughed. "How strange. I chose Seiko since you're opposites. You speak because I like your answers. Meanwhile, her family cut her tongue out for speaking against them. When she came to my temple three years ago, I could not help but pity her existence."

Murata shuddered. The way Douma explained her story felt patronizing, like she was worthless.

"That's horrible. What kind of family would do that?"

Douma, confusion on his face, answered. "Her family, evidently."

Someone knocked on the door. Douma opened it, speaking in hushed whispers with the lady outside.

"I forgot how busy today was going to be! I'll have Chiyo show you around the temple. It's long overdue, but I know you'll enjoy it," Douma said, before moving to another room.

The lady who spoke with Douma stepped in, patiently showing Murata the area.

"The main temple is where our lord resides, alongside some of his retainers, including myself."

They moved towards the buildings behind the temple, including the one Murata lived in.

"Our most devout believers live here. Consider yourself lucky for being recognized by him," she clenched her hands.

When they made their way to the top of the tallest building, Murata could see the town below them. The distance was far enough to barely make out the shapes of the people walking around.

"Does he own everything around here?"

Chiyo nodded. "Anything we own also belongs to him. Yes, the town below is owned by him. As is this mountain. And the mountains around us. It's a small price to pay. The happiness we receive from his presence is worth more than all the riches of the world."

Staring at Chiyo, Murata noticed her staggered breathing.

They continued the tour, though Murata made sure to keep a cordial distance between them. She was crazy, he could tell.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Murata woke up with a sweat. He changed his clothes before meditating in the room, trying to calm his nerves.

Douma, being increasingly busy, had little time to continue talking with Murata.

Grateful for the small lull, he spoke with several of Douma's retainers in the following weeks.

He entirely avoided Chiyo. Her fanatic and passionate intensity was overbearing.

Hiroto's gentle nature made him endearing to others. After the death of his wife and children, he sought answers in an increasingly changing world. Douma was his salvation, and he sang praises for him.

Fumiko was a stern woman. Born and raised in the mountain, the life she lived revolved entirely around Eternal Paradise. She could recite the passages forwards and backwards, and she taught many of the new followers.

Murata met Ichiro when the man returned to the temple. A traveling missionary, Ichiro desired to spread Douma's word. Surprisingly, he proved to be very good at this, always managing to bring back a flock of people. In the end, it amounted to nothing more than a circus of death.

People asked questions. Who wouldn't be concerned if a friend disappeared after meeting their revered leader?

Yet, things stayed the same, and those people disappeared as well. For the sane, it was a balancing act of blending in and adjusting to their new life. For the pure zealot, it showed the immensity of Douma's kindness. No longer would these people have to interact with the outside world.

Murata profiled them. Even if they weren't demons, they were dangerous people. By willingly condoning Douma's actions, they were just as monstrous.

The Demon Slayer Corps did not promote the murdering of civilians, not matter how vile they were. Self-defense was allowed but the intentional killing of humans was taboo.

Every one of Douma's retainers looked at people pitifully, mentally organizing them by categories of food. Douma had personal preferences, despite his gluttony.

Interrupted by the opened door, Murata stayed silent as Seiko entered and cleaned his room.

He initially tried sending her away, but she would always come back, citing her duties.

She showed him that just having parts of the tongue cut off didn't make speech impossible. Only very difficult, and despite practice, some sounds could never be replicated again. Seiko was from a richer family before she left, so she could also read and write.

Murata, hand on the door, prepared to leave until she grabbed his sleeve. She gave him a piece of paper before returning to her work.

Help me leave.

He pocketed the aged paper, leaving the room.

-

"Have you ever thought about death?" Douma asked him.

The first snow came, blanketing the ground as clouds covered the sky.

Adopting a thoughtful expression, Murata answered. "Many times. I've always wondered if everyone goes to the same place."

Douma laughed. "The same place? You speak as if there is anywhere to go after death."

"I think there is and that the actions in our life do mean something even when we're dead."

"I can't help but disagree," Douma said. "If such is the case, then why do the wicked get rewarded? Why do good people suffer?"

"I don't know. That type of question has troubled me for a long time. I won't ever get an answer for it, but I still believe in what I said."

Douma frowned. "That's irrational, you know? If you don't have the answer, then it probably doesn't exist."

"Just because I don't have the answer doesn't make it unanswerable. Someone wiser than me will probably figure it out."

Wagging his finger, Douma objected. "Not even the wisest have an answer. They say that to concern yourself with such dilemmas is to suffer unnecessarily. Always help others, but realize that the world is inherently wrong."

Murata huffed, letting out a flicker of annoyance. "Why does it matter how I answer?"

"I thought we were one in mind!" Douma exaggerated his surprise. "So it shocks me that we would be such opposites in this topic."

"It would be pretty boring if we had the same answer to everything, wouldn't it?"

"Only if we had the wrong answers."

Reaching the end of the courtyard, Douma parted ways. "Meet me again tomorrow. Also, be careful of the guards! Winter is approaching, so we're protecting the temple from any desperate bandits!"

Murata returned to his room, cursing.

-

Later that night, Murata had Seiko come to his room.

"Why do you want to leave? How can I even trust you?" Murata asked in a hushed voice.

She spoke slowly, putting effort in each word. "Douma eats people. Not human."

Gesturing to his pack, she requested writing materials.

I saw him eat people months ago. I left without a sound but the memory haunts me. He is not human. As for trust? I have seen your 'stick.' You bring a weapon to this temple. You are still alive despite that and while they know you as Masao, you are actually Murata.

He glared at Seiko. Murata purposely had the kakushi modify the sheathe to require a demon slayer's strength to open. He also put a small lock on his pack.

How did she do it?

"Why not leave earlier?"

Lots of eyes and as a servant, I have nothing beyond these walls. What should I do? Starve?

"Why are you expecting me to help you?"

She looked at him with confusion, then gestured to the sword. An obvious conclusion. A swordsman was not poor.

"So, you were helping me so that I would take you with me?"

Yes. I hide things very well. No one knows, no one notices.

Sighing, Murata held back his headache. This could work out.

"Alright, I have a plan. I still have one more thing to do, but before that, I need your help again."

She nodded, patiently understanding her role.

-

Murata gazed at the scenery around him. It was beautiful, but carried a terrible secret.

It would be safer to leave now, but that would be spitting on his duty as a demon slayer.

Was it unnecessarily selfless and dangerous for one life? Of course it was, but to abandon a core tenet of his organization was tantamount to treason.

If someone asked him to help, then he should do his best. It was better to die and save a life than to run away.

Murata had more than enough to verify Douma's existence as Upper Two. He could have left much earlier, but he wanted to document as much as possible about Eternal Paradise. Their structure, locations, patterns of life.

If the Demon Slayer Corps could hinder the cult, then Douma would have to resort to other means to find humans to eat. He also finished writing notes about the Blue Spider Lily. The fact that Douma was looking for it at all was of interest.

It would take only one call for help to summon the hashira, but it was too early for a couple of reasons.

One, the hashira would die. No matter his warnings, they would fight to the death, as expected of their duty. But it would be their downfall. No one had the mark, and without that, one couldn't reach the Transparent World.

No one carried a red blade either. It was even worse against an opponent like Douma, who would freeze the battlefield around him, making it more difficult to heat the blade with grip strength alone.

Second, Murata wanted to gleam anything related to Muzan. He purposely avoided it after the first discussion, but now was the time to take that risk.

Entering Douma's room, Murata took a seat, his walking stick beside him.

"Ah, is the pain flaring up again?" Douma's brow furrowed.

Murata nodded. "It's unfortunate, but one of the consequences of being a traveler."

"It's a beautiful day for rest. Pity the clouds are covering the sky, but it is what it is."

Murata inwardly groaned at that remark. It was ill-fated luck.

"You look more curious than I've ever seen you. Ask, ask away!"

"When we first talked, you mentioned a man who gave you your gift. Who was he?" Murata asked.

Douma perked up, sitting up in rapt attention. "How could I forget him? Well, I can call him many things, but that night was perhaps my most terrifying. His presence felt like a natural disaster. Any move I made could cause him to erupt."

"Was he angry?"

Douma chuckled. "He's always had a short temper. Do you wish to meet him?"

Murata shook his head. "After your description, I would rather not."

"Don't worry! He can be merciful at times. Sometimes, he lives in Tokyo. Other times, in Osaka. He is a traveler like yourself, but he is also a doctor."

"Does he save lives?"

Douma frowned, pondering. "I would say yes. Yet, paradoxically, I would also say no."

"That's a strange answer," Murata said. "He saves lives, yet he doesn't?"

Douma shrugged, agreeing with Murata's assessment.

"Does he have a gift like yours?"

They sat in silence. The cold forced Murata to keep his hands hidden in his haori.

Douma hummed, thinking. "No, not at all. He's very mysterious. You could pass by him in the street and not even notice. Such is his existence."

Grinning wickedly, Douma explained further. "Maybe that man you upset was him. Or a child you pushed away. Perhaps that woman you ogled was him."

He widened his eyes, staring straight into Murata's soul.

"Do you want to become a demon?"

Murata's senses were alarming him. He forced himself to answer.

"Never."

"Shame," Douma tossed a dead crow in front of Murata. "I wanted to see long I should drag this out for. But, after all this, I'm met with disappointment. I did enjoy our conversations, for what it's worth."

"Can't say I did," Murata disagreed. Before he could unsheathe his sword, Douma flicked his fan, its sharp edge and accompanying ice slicing across Murata's chest.

Murata crashed through the door, hitting the courtyard on his back. Blood began staining the snow red. He lit a match in his sleeve.

Standing at the entrance of his temple, Douma frowned.

"I dismissed everyone. No one will hear your screams."

Murata threw a bomb at Douma's feet.

He cut through it quickly, the wisteria inside irritating Douma while the gunpowder erupted. The blast set off a cascade of explosions, the temple collapsing under the firepower of Seiko's well-placed traps.

Murata clenched his body tightly and breathed deliberately, trying to stem the blood. Seiko ran from one of the servant's sheds towards him. People began looking out the windows, shocked by the unexpected sound.

She helped him run, both pushing themselves to the limit.

"Damn it," Murata coughed, "Nobunaga was supposed to coordinate with the kakushi." He could mourn the death of her later, but now, they had to escape.

"I know a path to get to the woods faster," Seiko said.

They continued, yet Murata's dragging pace was costing them precious time.

A booming crash destroyed the stairs, causing both of them to fall painfully. A giant bodhisattva slammed its hand towards them. Seiko grabbed Murata and quickly plunged further down the mountain.

Rock and stone cut their skin as Murata tried to cushion the chaotic plummet with his body. They retreated into the woods.

Murata watched as the normally calm bodhisattva turn angry, its hands swiftly attacking the nearby surroundings in a barrage of punches.

They could hear the people in the mountains erupt with equal anger, their screams and shouts echoing down to the town.

"We have to keep moving," Seiko pushed him. Her left arm hung limp, and her legs were covered in bruises.

"I know," Murata's wounds agonized him. "Just a bit further."

He slumped to the ground. His breathing lost focus, which reopened the tear in his chest.

"Murata!" She carried him, his consciousness ebbing away.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Kibutsuji Muzan, in the confines of the Infinity Castle, destroyed the room he was occupied in.

The table cracked, the vials smashed into fragments, and his notebook shredded into pieces.

Another disappointing experiment. A complete failure, and a waste of time. Just because it looked like a Blue Spider Lily didn't mean it acted like one.

It was worth a try anyway. Even if it was a one in a million chance, then Muzan would take it.

He took in a deep breath. He had all the time in the world. Only a year wasted. That's not so bad. After nearly a thousand years, it hardly mattered.

He mentally ordered Gyokko to torture the man who sold him the flower.

Sitting on his chair, Muzan watched Nakime while bringing out another notebook. Mentally telling her to play her biwa, he took more notes as she performed in front of him.

It was much better than Kyogai, and Muzan preferred the soft sounds of a biwa rather than the roar of a drum.

Despite being a demon for only a century, her ability grew more and more. At first, it was only the small building she performed in as a human. But now, she had her own space, separated from the outside world.

Muzan looked back at the trashed room, setting down his notes and robotically picking up the fragments of glass and paper.

If only he had Tamayo to help him. Her skill in medicine was the equivalent of Kokushibo's swordsmanship.

Except, she was a traitor. Even if he forced her to help him, she would undoubtably spite him, sabotaging every step of the process.

That was the type of woman she was.

Still, maybe he should send Kokushibo to find her?

Shaking his head, he sighed. Pointless.

Kokushibo was a swordsman through and through. But, the last few decades left him brooding. The samurai were abolished. The emperor lost more and more of his authority.

Western influences were 'tainting' Japanese civilization, as Kokushibo remarked.

Muzan did not care at all. His only concern was whether any of these western practices could help him find the Blue Spider Lily.

Yet, none of them proved to help him. They were more interested in business and commerce.

As for medicine? Nothing impressed Muzan. He was a demon. He didn't get sick, didn't age, and he looked as young as ever.

The more he thought about it, the more upset he became.

Abandoning his train of thought, he reached out to his Upper Ranks.

The feeling grossed him out, but needing to know the activities of his strongest subordinates was necessary. He painstakingly established them, after all.

Upper Six was still in the Entertainment District. What a childish hobby. If only Gyutaro ditched his sister, maybe he could let his greed take over and consume more humans.

Love for his immature, useless sister? It was the only thing Muzan disliked about Gyutaro.

Upper Five was still torturing the man. Fair enough.

Upper Four kept crying to himself in a cave as he ate flesh. Well, he didn't expect much from Hantengu anyway.

Upper Three explored a forest, weaving wildly between the trees. He would stop to examine a plant or flower at random intervals. At least one of his demons actively tried to accomplish the impossible.

Upper Two. Muzan couldn't help but slightly grin to himself. This was rare. A moment where Douma inwardly expressed something more than emptiness?

"Nakime, summon Douma," Muzan said.

She wordlessly complied, plucking a string. The sound echoed in the massive castle, and Douma appeared in front of Muzan.

He showed no signs of surprise or confusion, only exaggerated cheer.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Douma waved his fans. His clothes were a bit tattered, but beyond that, he appeared as he normally would.

Muzan pierced Douma's face with his hand, absorbing several memories. It was more efficient this way.

But, it would have left Muzan in a better mood if he hadn't done that at all.

Flinging the blood off his hand and wiping his hand with a handkerchief, Muzan raised his voice.

"Not only did you engage in pointless drivel with a nobody, but you let him escape. Not even a hashira."

His expression remained tense. The glare in his eyes forced immense pressure down on Douma.

Douma's eyes leaked blood.

"Ah, but I sliced him up. He should be dead by the blood loss," Douma choked.

Muzan erupted in rage. "I don't care. You let a demon slayer escape. If he doesn't die from his wounds, what then?"

Douma had nothing to say against that.

"To think that Upper Two has fallen from such heights. Maybe I should promote Akaza myself. That way, we can be rid of your lunacy."

It was small, but even the idea that Akaza should be a higher rank than him left Douma displeased.

"Get out of my damn sight. Dedicate your entire cult to finding the Blue Spider Lily. No half-measures. Otherwise, I'll take your worthless eyesight now. I may give Akaza leniency, but at least he does his duty. I can't say the same for you."

Plucking a string, Nakime forced Douma out of the Infinity Castle.

Douma was a disgusting existence. If it weren't for his unnatural growth and cult of followers, then Muzan would've killed him long ago.

Shapeshifting from his business disguise into his geisha appearance, he ordered Nakime to take him out of the Infinity Castle.

-

Upon Douma's return, the people of Eternal Paradise begged to see him.

He patiently assured them. While the front temple collapsed, it could easily be rebuilt. Douma sent out his retainers to quell the chaos.

When they came back, Ichiro brought news.

"Walking around the town, I heard word that one of the vendors sold out all of his fireworks in recent weeks."

"Does he have a family?"

"A wife, a son, and a daughter."

Douma thought to himself, then wrote several more names on a piece of paper.

Handing it to Ichiro, Douma smiled. "Bring them all tonight. I can't help but want to share happiness."

Before they left, he requested one last thing.

"This boy," Douma drew a rough sketch, "if you ever see him, don't hesitate to kill him. He broke my 'trust.'"

Nodding fervently, Chiyo asked for his name.

"A little birdie told me it was Murata, if that helps any."

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Muzan was, unsurprisingly, someone who wrote a lot.

Not in terms of fiction or literary prose. His expertise bordered towards record-keeping.

When one became as long lived as him, not even the best memory can remember everything.

In addition, he was born to a wealthy family. As a wealthy heir, his duties including knowing how to read and write.

When he stole the notes from the doctor he murdered, he started to devour anything he could find about the Blue Spider Lily.

-

An excerpt below:

Originally, that cursed doctor found the Blue Spider Lily in Japan. His intent was to create a cure for all ailments. He traveled to Korea, China, and Mongolia, without luck.

It was only when he came back from his journey that he found it. He had neither the foresight or wisdom to record where it specifically grew.

In the end, he did achieve his goal. The disease of humanity is only cured by becoming a demon.

-

Next, it was necessary to keep track of his unique biology. Muzan did not immediately gain all his demonic powers at once.

The strength and the hunger were the first things he noticed. But the other abilities were cultivated through time.

-

The blood I hold is extremely toxic. It appears that not everyone has the same tolerance for it.

The more one can handle my blood, the stronger they are as a demon. There is no consistent variable that measures a human's potential to handle my blood, however.

Some have a natural affinity for it, while others can grow into it.

Interestingly, demon slayers have the worst affinity to my blood. It is most likely due to their mental insanity.

As for myself, I have perfected its control. It took decades, but I have made it so that each demon is cursed and bound to me. Because blood demons arts have become more unpredictable, it's a necessary measure, for the worst case scenario.

-

Muzan was also, for lack of a better term, an inhumane boss. For most demons, it was better if they didn't have to interact with the progenitor of demons.

He did like to keep a short summary of some of his strongest.

-

I enjoy Gyutaro's nature. His greedy ambition and unrepentant self is necessary to becoming a more powerful demon. If only he ditched the last remnants of his humanity by discarding his sister, then he could achieve his full potential.

Daki is an immature and spoiled child. She tries to act as a proper lady, but I have met animals more graceful than her. However, just like a child, she responds very well to a few words of encouragement.

Gyokko is fine but I do not care how sincere his praise is. However, his pottery is lucrative. Very few demons possess an appreciation for art. Since I showed him his path to life, it's only right that I benefit from his wealth.

Hantengu is annoying. If he turned into Zohakuten forever, then maybe Upper Four wouldn't be degrading. At least he knows respect.

If every demon were Akaza, then I would have achieved my goals centuries ago. Loyal, serious, and strong, he's one of the few I don't regret turning into a demon. It is for those reasons I humor his 'request.'

Douma is disgusting. A glutton and a slothful being. His rapid growth and strength is one of the greatest mysterious I've encountered. Yet, his cult could be worthwhile.

Kokushibo is someone I hold a certain level of respect. Bound to duty and order, he understands the deepest concepts of demonic nature.

-

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Before opening his eyes, Murata instantly felt the pain etched into his body.

"Awake?" A voice next to him asked.

Murata's eyes slowly peeked. The clouds gave the room a shade of grey, and two rows of beds lined the room on either side.

Seiko sat on the bed next to his. A cast covered her left arm, and next to her bed was a walking stick.

She held out a paper next to his face.

We are in the Butterfly Estate. The kakushi carried us here.

"Are you okay?" Murata asked.

She nodded, and left it at that.

They lingered in silence before a girl burst through the door with two trays. Setting down the food, she began examining both of them.

"You should be off the cast in a few more weeks. For your legs, you'll still need the walking stick for a while. Slowly increasing the amount of walking should speed up the recovery," she said.

Understanding the implied advice, Seiko carefully stood up and walked out of the room.

"I'm Kocho Shinobu. You can just call me Shinobu, if that makes you more comfortable," she said.

Murata bluntly cut to his biggest concern. "How close was I to dying?"

She took the question with grace, clinically preparing her answer.

"Very close. The kakushi did their best to delay the severity of your wounds and if they arrived a day later, you would be dead. You've been asleep for a while now. About a month."

"How much longer until I get to return to duty?"

"Currently pending. Your torso, while healed, has a scar," she mimicked the path of Murata's wound on her body. Her finger started from her midsection and ended at the top of her left shoulder.

"Your back healed, but there will be marks. We noticed burn wounds on your back."

Murata coughed, the simple action causing his injury to surge in slight pain.

"When I set off the explosions, I turned away from them."

Shinobu nodded. "We figured as much, given from Seiko's account."

"Why is my return currently pending?"

She looked at him pitifully. "We need you to complete your recovery before we can give you permission to leave."

"That can't be the only reason though," Murata deduced.

"You'd be right. First of all, you directly involved a civilian in your mission."

Murata spoke to interject before being interrupting by Shinobu.

"We understand the circumstances. She told us herself. Yet, it shouldn't have happened to begin with. Upon the first sign of danger, retreating would've been the correct course of action."

Murata grumbled. "It worked, didn't it?"

Shinobu, as messenger, held back a sigh. "That was from the hashira. The master wanted to give you a reward, but also understood that such recklessness could, in the future, put others in danger."

Taking Murata's vitals, she continued. "For now though, you're on probation. The master gave you a bonus, but also took away your pay for the next six months."

Murata, after receiving all the news, felt a mental whiplash. He was being punished, but only nominally.

Seeing his confusion, Shinobu smiled. "Enjoy your 'rest.' A volunteer already decided to oversee part of your probation."

The familiar knot of anxiety manifested in Murata's heart. This was a punishment.

-

Swiftly returning to his routine, Murata's wounds resumed healing. They did not fully heal as the scars lingered and certain movements caused discomfort.

Seiko, upon seeing his incredible pace, felt left behind. Shinobu, seeing the irritation on the woman's expression, held back a laugh before privately speaking with her.

Murata renewed his breathing until he felt a powerful presence. Like prey before the belly of the beast, his senses warned him of future torment.

Opening his eyes, he could barely comprehend Makomo pinching his ear.

"It hurts!"

She scoffed at him. "That's just the least of my displeasure. Actually, you should be glad to see me. Tengen offered to watch over you. In his words, he wanted to test the 'foolhardy upstart.'"

"I've been in just as long as you though," Murata murmured.

She shook her head. "That wasn't the point. He's just being dramatic. You're the first demon slayer to survive an Upper Rank encounter in decades."

Murata wanted to smile at that achievement. Looking at Makomo, he held back his satisfaction. If he appeared happy, she might think he was eager to train.

"It wasn't like I fought him."

"We know," Makomo said, "we read the reports. But I'll give you my congratulations. Even better, I'll brush you up. After all that rest, anyone would be rusty."

"I got better with Water Breathing, I swear!" Murata held up his hands. "Though, I've also been practicing Wind Breathing."

The air turned cold. Her glacial stare pierced him.

"You know Wind Breathing?" Makomo asked.

"Yes?"

"Let's double the training. Twice the breath, twice the distance."

Murata's screams rang throughout the Butterfly Estate.

-

"So you decided to make your own breath?" Makomo asked.

Murata laid on one of several beds in the room. Makomo sat on a chair, digesting his words.

"If I had to document it accurately, it would be a derivative of Water Breathing," Murata said. "However, I was also inspired by some of the Wind Breathing forms."

Hand on her chin, Makomo expressed her thoughts. "It's similar to Mist Breathing. The first user created it as a derivative of Wind Breathing, but also mentioned taking inspiration from Water Breathing. How many forms?"

Murata spoke quietly. "Two."

"Only two?" Her face twisted in confusion.

"It's not the number of forms that matter. What's more important is how you use them!" Murata spoke from the heart.

Makomo chuckled. "I was just surprised, that's all. Sabito had to adjust his way of fighting as well."

"What does he practice?"

"I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. You haven't met him yet?"

Murata shook his head.

"Well, I have another drawing of them," she handed him another drawing of Giyu and Sabito.

"Do you just carry around drawings of people?" Murata asked. This was only marginally better. At their faces looked like faces.

"I like to practice! And, even though Giyu is my tsuguko, I still haven't found him a friend other than Sabito."

"Are you spreading drawings of Giyu so that people would recognize him and be friends with him?"

She looked away, sheepishly nodding.

"Does he want friends?"

"He's too shy to admit it."

"I think he doesn't want friends."

Makomo denied that claim, passionately outlining her arguments.

-

After three weeks of supervision, Makomo was summoned for a Lower Moon sighting.

"You've grown stronger, Murata. It's good to see you still alive."

"I'm glad to even be here," he admitted.

She looked at him, watching the stress on his mind stirring.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

Holding back her objection, Makomo accepted his answer. "Don't let their strength scare you. In the end, it is our goal to eradicate all demons, not matter what."

"I understand that. It's just..."

"No excuses," Makomo's tone turned sharp. "It's our responsibility to fight so others can live. That is our purpose."

He agreed, not saying another word.

"Good luck. I hope we meet again soon," she said.

Makomo ran quickly, creating a cloud of dust in her wake. Murata watched as the Water Hashira continued her journey.

-

Two weeks later, his weapon finally arrived.

Murata, after receiving his newly repaired sword, thanked Tetsuido.

"It's become more recognizable," he said, observing the pattern. "I'm glad to see it grow to suit its user."

He left without fanfare. A kakushi carried him as they left.

Going back into the Butterfly Estate, he saw Shinobu.

"Is your sister not here?" Murata asked.

"She's been busy recently," Shinobu answered. "As a result, I've been left in charge."

He peered at her, noticing the difference in height. Her expression became tense.

"I know what you're thinking," Shinobu sang.

"Aren't you a bit young?"

"I'm only three years younger than you!"

Murata mentally counted. If he turned sixteen during his infiltration in the Eternal Paradise cult, then she should be about thirteen.

That's still too young!

"That's too much work for a thirteen year old!"

"How hypocritical," Shinobu huffed, "that's like the pot calling the kettle black."

She left his presence before he could respond again.

Murata packed up his supplies. Sitting at the engawa, he viewed the garden while waiting for his new crow.

Once the crow arrived, Murata would finally be able to resume missions. He did rank up, which was good. Unfortunately, his pay was still forfeited.

Murata turned around when he felt someone tapping his right shoulder.

Seiko's black hair was cut a little shorter, and her uniform was reminiscent of someone ready to train.

Murata wanted to scold this woman. After getting her out of that mountain, she immediately set her eyes toward demon slaying.

You think it's a waste. To be saved, only to become a demon slayer.

"Technically, you're not a demon slayer yet. But yes, I do think you should live your life peacefully."

She kept writing with her inkstick. Then, she opened her mouth, allowing Murata to see what remained of her tongue.

Family cut my tongue out for speaking against them. I only wanted to help a boy. Maybe if he is still there, I can help and free him.

"Maybe being a demon slayer would help, but the corps expressly forbids harming or murdering civilians."

Not them. It's the demon. She hisses like a snake and eats the young. The family can rot if they wish. I do not ever want to be associated with them.

If Murata didn't know any better, he would be concerned. Except, he had a distinct idea about who she was talking about.

"What was your family name, if you do not mind me asking?"

At first, she seemed against saying it at all. But, after moments of deliberation, she answered him.

"Iguro," she said with effort.

Murata nodded, thanking her. It did not matter what he said to her. It seemed her mind wouldn't budge.

Even if he did say anything and could prove it, would it change her resolve?

"South!" Murata's new crow squawked.

"Be careful then. If you truly want to become a demon slayer, train like your life depends on it," he warned.

She acknowledged his advice and went back inside.

Murata followed his crow, beginning a new journey.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Renewing the grind of missions, Murata fought demons, saved people, and finally received pay again.

Before he knew it, he turned seventeen.

After finishing a particularly quick mission, his crow, Nobu, landed on his arm. Murata wanted to honor the late Nobunaga. So, he named his next crow after her.

Nobu did not object at all and he even relished the silly nickname.

Murata, seeing the missive on the crow's leg, untied it.

Possible Lower Moon presence in northern Chubu.

Murata stopped to think. If he was the only who received this mission, then this could be his chance to become a hashira.

The prestige of the rank didn't tempt him. Actually, the most important thing about being a hashira would be the increased freedom. He would have to respond to the most difficult missions, but beyond that, the Ubuyashiki family let the hashira go their own pace.

As most hashira were extremely loyal to the cause, they would work harder than other demon slayers. Yet, there were cases throughout the organization's long history where several hashira either abused or slacked off on their important duty.

Needless to say, those types were quickly weeded out by their fellow hashira, or killed in a mission.

The pillars of the organization were many things, but being indolent was extremely rare.

-

When Murata arrived at the nearest town to resupply and sleep, he met Sanemi.

"You got the same letter?" Sanemi shoved his piece of paper towards Murata's face.

Murata sighed. "Yes, but I'm surprised you knew. I thought you couldn't read?"

"I had the crow read it to me," Sanemi's veins palpitated.

Murata nodded, accepting the explanation. "So, you still can't read?"

"Of course I can't! Masachika didn't finish teaching me, that clown."

They traveled together, running to get to the location in question. After days of sprinting, they reached an empty town.

There were still people, but its seen better days. A sad case in many of the poorer villages, where the young people move to cities and the older people remain as they live out the rest of their lives.

It was a surprise to both of them when Masachika greeted them.

Normally a cheerful and positive person, his shift in tone conveyed the seriousness of the mission.

"To send two kinoe and a hinoe for this," Masachika said, "it means that several demon slayers have gone missing, at the very minimum."

"What are we waiting for then?" Sanemi began walking. "Let's just find that damn demon and kill it."

Masachika held on to Sanemi's arm, stopping his advance. "I got here a day before both of you. I've already staked out the house."

"Were you waiting for us? I was under the impression I had a solo mission until I saw Sanemi," Murata explained.

Masachika turned to him, nodding. "Yes, I'm in charge. My crow told me of two people coming. Now that you're both here, let's go."

Making their way into the half-abandoned town, they noticed the hollow atmosphere. The only sounds included their footsteps and breathing. The crows flew above them, observing the area from the air.

The largest house at the end of the main village road was their destination. Seperated from everything else, it resembled a mansion more than a house. Three stories tall and a stone wall to surround the manor, Masachika explained the situation.

"I've talked with some of the people here. Not all of them, but the ones I've spoken to had nothing good to say about this place. It's been abandoned for decades and no one dares move into it because it's cursed."

Murata furrowed his brows. "Cursed? In a literal sense or does the place just feel wrong?"

"Does it matter?" Sanemi scoffed. "It's probably because a demon lives there."

Masachika agreed. "I'll go first, then you two follow me."

Walking into the property, Masachika entered through the gate. Sanemi walked next, with Murata covering the rear.

Opening the door and keeping his sword tightly gripped, Masachika set foot into the mansion.

He barely reached the end of the hall before he found himself outside again.

Looking around, Masachika tried to reorient himself before stumbling. A harsh, foul smell hit him. He covered his nose with his sleeve.

It reeked of rot and death. It wasn't just a rot from spoiled food or a decomposing animal. An utterly unnatural scent assaulted his nose. The smell made him lose focus on his breathing for a moment.

He retreated away from the property. Observing the wall and its surroundings, it left him confused. Why was he lingering in a place like this?

Walking around the other neighborhoods of the town, he met an old man.

"I appreciate the help, young man," the old man said, taking the bucket of water from Masachika.

Masachika laughed, shrugging off the thanks. "It's my pleasure. How long have you lived here?"

"My whole life," the old man's eyes gleamed with clarity.

Wanting to untangle the fog in his mind, Masachika asked him a question about the manor separated from the other neighborhoods.

"What would possess you to go in there?"

Masachika stood straight and composed himself. It took effort, but he was able to remember his reason for going. "I was sent to investigate the abandoned home."

He added, "if there's any information you know, it would greatly help us."

The old man nodded, not suspicious at all of Masachika's nature. The young man shined bright with righteousness.

"When I was a boy, I heard stories about that place. There was a woman known as Yae?"

The old man shook his head. "Yae lived with her husband. Though, when she gave birth to their daughter, her husband became more and more abusive."

Sighing, the old man continued. "Years later, her husband drowned by the nearby river, and her daughter became sick shortly after that. Yae tried her best, but the girl died. I even remember there being a small funeral for her daughter, but the body was missing. Yae left our town around that same time. Out of grief, I'd say. After the death of her husband and daughter, I don't blame her."

The old man lit up, reminiscing. "She left everything behind, including a prized dresser that the family owned for generations. My mother said that Yae should've sold it but apparently, it was a family heirloom meant to protect the house and keep out thieves."

Masachika, upon hearing the story, regained his clarity and realized that Murata and Sanemi were still inside the manor.

Thanking the old man for his time, Masachika rushed back.

-

Sanemi and Murata walked through the rooms and halls of the manor.

The first thing they both noticed was the repulsive smell.

"What the hell? It reeks of corpses," Sanemi complained.

Murata had to agree, but it was sadly not the worst thing he encountered. "It does. It reminds me of when I faced a demon whose entire ability was to smell horrible."

The second thing they noticed was Masachika's disppearance.

"Maybe it's related to a blood demon art?" Murata guessed.

Sanemi quickened his pace. "Then we got to hurry up!"

Plunging further into the strange home, they endured the horrible scent.

In one of the larger rooms, they found a row of beds. Its original purpose looked to be a medical ward, a place to tend for the sick. Seated next to one of the beds, a beautiful woman with long, black hair was humming quietly.

Upon closer inspection, they saw the twisted room for what it really was.

A death trap.

Six beds were occupied. Four children and two demon slayers. Two of the children were decomposing, and one of the demon slayers did not move.

The remaining children looked barely alive. One suffered from a fever while the other gazed at the ceiling with empty eyes.

The other demon slayer was groaning in his restless sleep while clutching a missing arm.

Turning towards them, the lady smiled. Her eyes opened, and they both saw the writing engraved in her eyes.

Lower Moon One

Steeling their resolve, Murata and Sanemi charged.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Ice Breathing, First Form: Glacial Storm

Wind Breathing, First Form: Dust Whirlwind Cutter

The demon parried both of their attacks while she chided them in mock disapproval.

"A child shouldn't attack their mother."

Sanemi ignored her rambling. "Where is Masachika?"

The demon laughed. "I sent him away. I'm more interested in you," she pointed at Sanemi.

Gazing at Murata, she looked confused. "I thought I sent you away…?"

Murata stood silent, not entertaining the demon's conversation. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a little offended.

Losing interest in Murata quickly, she turned back to Sanemi.

"I'm glad to have you in here," the demon said, staring at him. "I see it in your eyes. Your parents were cruel, weren't they?"

Sanemi, angered, leapt towards the demon.

She jumped, dodging his attack and reaching out to caress his face.

Ice Breathing, Second Form: Wintry Hail

Murata's sword struck true, cutting off an arm and causing her to hiss in pain.

"What an ungrateful brat. How could you bring yourself to hurt a caring mother?"

Murata held steady but inside, he was burning with rage.

"A caring mother wouldn't hurt their child," he said.

She stared at him in pity and gestured to her patients. "You know nothing of the world. As for these children, I am healing them. The children are sick, so it is my responsibility to help them."

Sanemi gripped his blade tighter. "I'll help you with my sword!"

Wind Breathing, Second Form: Claws Purifying Wind

The demon deflected his attack, then grinned wildly.

"If you do not see it my way, then I have nothing but pity," she said, before the room pulsated and turned into living flesh.

"It's okay, you'll be a part of me forever."

Murata rushed to grab her victims. The feverish boy immediately grabbed onto his back. Murata tucked the girl with empty eyes under his arm.

Sanemi rushed towards the injured demon slayer who woke up and begged for help.

"Ungrateful," the demon said, instantly killing the injured demon slayer.

Enraged, Sanemi unleashed a barrage of attacks against the demon.

–

Masachika gave a message to his crow and entered the house again, doing his best to remain focused and ignore the awful smell. It was likely related to her blood demon art.

He found the dresser the old man was speaking of in a dusty room.

Ornate and elaborate, there was a small mirror standing on top of the dresser. Below it, incense burned. Observing the handles, he recognized nichirin metal.

Looking at the mirror, he saw glimpses of Murata and Sanemi fighting.

Adrenaline spiking, Masachika turned around, only to face nothing. Turning to the mirror again, he saw the demon try to claw Sanemi's torso.

But again, turning to the back of the room, he found nothing.

Her blood demon art induced illusions. Not only could she affect what people see, but she can lure what she desires while pushing away others.

The incense helped spread the illusion. Perhaps the demon infused her blood with the incense, helping it propagate in the air.

Masachika wasn't the best detective or problem solver. When in doubt, destroy it.

Wind Breathing, Second Form: Claws Purifying Wind

The dresser exploded in a shower of splinters. The mirror shattered and the incense broke in pieces. A terrible shriek echoed in the house, and Masachika watched the room shift and change.

A moment later, the room fluctuated between wood and flesh before settling into an ordinary room. He found himself next to Murata.

"How did you get here?" Murata shook his head. "I saved those I could, but we need to cut her head off."

Masachika nodded. "Leave it to me."

He rushed towards Sanemi. They both shared a glance of silent understanding, and began their assault.

The lady adopted an expression of frustration, venting her words. "What don't you understand? I am here to provide, to take care of these suffering children!"

Wind Breathing, Eighth Form: Primary Gale Slash

The house trembled under the stress of their attacks.

Masachika fell into a rare fit of rage. "How could you say those things? Did you take care of these children just like your daughter, when you were Yae?"

Hearing her old name, she flinched. "That is no longer my name. I am Ubume. And yes, I provided for my daughter. If she always remained sick, then I would always be able to take care of her. After getting rid of my husband, it was easy to play as the heartbroken caretaker."

Ubume continued parrying their attacks.

"We need a plan," Sanemi said.

Ubume rushed at them, trying to punch through their torso or tear off a limb.

Positioning himself to receive a wound, Sanemi began flaunting his blood.

The marechi blood wafted in the room. Ubume immediately recognized the rare blood, its potency affecting her senses.

With Murata jumping in and rejoining, the three of them were slowly pressing their advantage.

Ice Breathing, First Form: Glacial Storm

Wind Breathing, Seventh Form: Gale, Sudden Gusts

Murata clashed head to head with Ubume, and Sanemi jumped to unleash his attack.

Dealing with the frontal assault, Ubume was pushed back. Masachika approached from behind, swinging his sword towards Ubume.

Suddenly, one of Ubume's victim snuck through and stood in front of her. The small girl became the barrier between Masachika's sword and Ubume.

Masachika faltered in his trajectory, changing it to avoid the girl. Ubume took advantage of this small moment of hesitation.

Reaching out to lacerate his chest, Ubume aimed for a killing blow. Murata pushed himself towards Masachika, pulling both of them away from the attack.

Masachika's arm flew up in the air, causing him to howl in anguish.

A moment later and Masachika would have a hole where his heart was.

Snarling in anger, Ubume pushed the girl away and leapt towards Murata and Masachika.

Sanemi dashed recklessly, acting as a whirlwind of violence and taking adavantage of Ubume's lack of focus on him.

Wind Breathing, Sixth Form: Black Wind Mountain Mist

His sword sliced Ubume's head off. The force of the attack blasted the small girl away. Grabbing Murata's hand, she narrowly avoided smashing into the wall.

Hearing the building groan and twist, they evacuated as quickly as possible. Murata kept a tight, painful grip on the girl. Sanemi grabbed the sick boy and supported Masachika.

Leaving the manor, they watched it collapse and turn into a pile of debris.

Masachika's crow arrived, trailed by several kakushi.

-

Most of the kakushi focused on treating Masachika's blood loss and missing limb. The rest began evaluating the children's health.

Sanemi stomped towards Murata. "If that girl was part of the Demon Slayer Corps, we would be right to punish her for treason."

"Since she's just a shocked little girl that's not part of the corps, we don't have to do that," Murata said without missing a beat.

"How the hell did she get in our way? I thought you took care of them."

Murata sighed. "I hid them in the closet and told the boy to keep an eye on her. It'd take too long to guide them out the building and seeing how the girl acted, she probably wouldn't listen unless I forced her to leave. By that time, you'd both be dead. It took three of us to kill Lower Moon One, and now one of us is going to have to retire."

Sanemi remained silent. His jaw stiffened and and his hands trembled from fury and shame.

Nearby, they could hear the girl crying endlessly. The boy stayed quiet, his fever dying down as the kakushi administered him medicine.

-

Since Masachika's loss of limb constituted as a severe injury, they were escorted to the Butterfly Estate for more thorough medical examinations.

The Flower Hashira, Kocho Kanae, conducted the inspection.

"You should be good, just keep an eye on the stitches," she said to Sanemi.

"As for you," she pointed towards Murata's left torso, "two of your ribs cracked. It shouldn't take too long to heal, though."

"What about Masachika? Is he going to be alright?" Sanemi impatiently asked.

"He will live, but will most likely have to retire. Loss of limb is not something that can just be overcome with training."

Murata agreed on principle, but when you had people like Gyomei, everything seemed possible.

Sanemi thanked her, calming down.

She left, leaving the three of them in the room.

-

When Masachika regained consciousness and began his recovery, his amicable and friendly nature still shined.

Reaching out to grab his chopsticks, he sheepishly realized that his right arm was gone.

The three of them were eating together in the medical ward of the Butterfly Estate.

"I plan to retire," Masachika announced. Murata understood, but Sanemi still denied it.

Masachika laughed at Sanemi's suggestions. "It's unfortunate, but I can't adapt Wind Breathing with just my left arm. Also, our teacher isn't getting any younger. I can help guide the new generation and carry on his wishes."

Sanemi became surprisingly gloomy about his friend's new path in life. Masachika, sensing Sanemi's guilt, patted him on the back.

"I got a letter from the master." Taking the paper out of his sleeve, he handed it to Sanemi. Murata hovered behind Sanemi to read the letter.

"The master has summoned both of you," Masachika summarized.

Sanemi threw the letter on the ground. "I don't give a damn about that. Why does he want to see us?"

"It's an order. You wouldn't want to give a bad impression of our teacher or me, right?" Masachika teased.

Sanemi huffed and walked away in annoyance.

The door slammed, leaving Masachika and Murata alone.

"Whatever Sanemi does, make sure he doesn't offend the master and hashira."

Murata's eyes widened. "The hashira are going to be there? Why's that?"

Masachika leaned in, pretending to share a secret. "The master wanted to promote everyone involved in fighting Lower Moon One. The last one was killed fifty years ago. He wanted to personally congratulate both of you."

"That doesn't explain the hashira being there."

"Nope! I don't know why they're coming," Masachika laughed.

Murata sighed. It meant he was going to have a very large headache soon.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

The Demon Slayer Corps is traditionally made up of ten ranks, with two additional positions.

In order from lowest to highest, it goes like this: mizunoto, mizunoe, kanato, kanoe, tsuchinoto, tsuchinoe, hinoto, hinoe, kinoto, and kinoe.

The two additional positions are tsuguko and hashira.

Tsuguko is less of a rank and more like an additional status. The tsuguko are the direct successor of a specific hashira. In the event of a hashira's retirement or death, the tsuguko is left to inherit the hashira's responsibility. As a result, one could theoretically be a mizunoto and a tsuguko of a hashira at the same time.

The hashira are the strongest slayers of the organization. At most, there is only one hashira per breathing style. Furthermore, they have to clear a couple requirements.

Now, the manga and anime don't really touch on the rank and file of the Demon Slayer Corps. As far as we're concerned, the important ones are the hashira and to a lesser extent, tsugukos and kinoes.

I mention this because despite many people's knowledge, the requirements on becoming a hashira are more vague than necessary.

Spoiler: Demon Hunter Q&A; a databook, most likely

Beating fifty demons or one of the demon moons. Simple enough. Also, the Rengoku Gaiden mentions this during the fight between Hairo and Rengoku:

"The conditions for becoming a pillar are to be a kinoe, and to either exterminate over fifty demons, or to defeat one of the twelve demon moons."

Okay, now you have to be a kinoe, and either kill fifty demons, or eliminate one of the demon moons.

Maybe it's just an ambiguous translation, because while it adds more information, it raises more questions than it answers.

The implication here is that to be hashira:

1. One has to be a kinoe.

2. One has to kill fifty demons or kill a demon moon.

Alternatively:

1. One has to be a kinoe and kill fifty demons.

OR

2. One has to kill a demon moon.

The kinoe part is what makes it frustrating. Does a demon slayer have to kill fifty demons total or fifty more demons after becoming the kinoe rank? Does your tally from previous ranks still count? For example, if you killed thirty demons then ranked up as kinoe, does that mean you only have to kill twenty more?

Alternatively, does a demon slayer have to kill a demon moon as a kinoe to become a hashira?

One situation is if you were involved in a demon moon encounter as a lower rank. If you were able to kill that demon, would you automatically be eligible for hashira? Or is it just an unlucky situation where you rank up but don't become a hashira?

Another confusing thing is that most people think you have to kill a demon moon by yourself to get the rank.

We have only two confirmed instances where a demon slayer killed a demon moon and became a hashira. Kyojuro and Sanemi.

Kyojuro defeated a Lower Moon by himself.

Sanemi defeated a Lower Moon with his friend, who later died after the battle.

Both were kinoe in their respective fights. Both promoted to hashira.

With all that said, I'm going to go ahead and establish my own standard.

To be hashira, one has to:

1. Become kinoe.

2. Kill a total of fifty demons OR kill a demon moon (but not necessarily by yourself).

The attrition rate for demon slayers must be horrible. Consider the time it takes to travel between missions, conduct investigations, killing the demon, and then resting. Reaching fifty demon kills is impressive, no matter what.

Adding the caveat that one doesn't have to solo a demon moon would explain Sanemi's canon promotion. It would also discourage sabotage in the organization. When we have people like Kaigaku that exist, I don't think such things are off the table.

The caveat also brings in the third factor that is not mentioned in either the manga or anime and that I just made up.

The Ubuyashiki vibe check. Kagaya has a great intuition of people's character.

Despite not being the most stable of people, the hashira are, deep down, good people. Continuously serving to fight for others.

The hashira are meant to serve as a backbone of the organization. Not only are they capable fighters, but they serve to raise morale for other demon slayers. There's a reason Shinjuro was considered for early retirement. His behavior was not reflecting the organization's values. It helps to be a kinoe first to understand the structure of the organization beyond killing demons.

So, to reiterate:

1. Be a kinoe.

2. Kill a total of fifty demons OR a demon moon

3. Pass the Ubuyashiki vibe check. For judge of character and in the event of a demon moon death, your level of contribution.

The Ubuyashiki family has the final say, ultimately. It's their organization, and the hashira respect Kagaya so much that barring severe circumstances, they would understand if he made a decision to make someone a hashira or not.

A/N: The image broke. I'm attaching the reddit link to the post that has the imgur image of what I'm talking about. https://www.reddit.com/r/KimetsuNoYaiba/comments/srm6o5/why_are_people_still_so_confused_about_the/

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

The Ubuyashiki Estate was hidden. The process to get there, if one wasn't a hashira, involved blindfolds, kakushi, and crows.

Most of them didn't even know the exact position of the Ubuyashiki home. The kakushi would coordinate with the crows and meet at various points.

The Ubuyashiki family also possessed several decoy properties. Like the Swordsmith Village with its fake villages, these served as a layer of protection and backup in the event of a worst case scenario.

The original story behind the secrecy took place during the Sengoku Era. Due to a former demon slayer's betrayal of the organization and the subsequent killing of the Ubuyashiki leader, the next generations wanted to secure their safety.

The period after that still remained as one of the most chaotic in the history of the Demon Slayer Corps.

Murata thought it was interesting how despite all that, the hashira were not subject to the blindfold and kakushi treatment. The story was well known throughout the corps, except the specific details of the betrayer were known only by a few.

He supposed the Ubuyashiki family had to trust people regardless of the risk, and the hashira were the obvious choice. Even if the betrayer was a former hashira himself.

Being let off the kakushi's back, Murata kept still as the kakushi removed the blindfold on himself and Sanemi.

The bright sun forced him to squint his eyes. As the surroundings became clearer, Sanemi and Murata found themselves at a clearing adorned with a pond and rock garden. They saw Kagaya sitting on the engawa alongside two of his children.

Sanemi's eyes twitched, the veins on his forehead trembling.

Immediately, their heads were forced to the ground. Not painfully, but discomfort was building in Murata's head.

When Kagaya greeted everyone, Murata lifted his head to observe the hashira. With the exception of Rengoku Shinjuro, all the hashira were present.

Uzui Tengen, the Sound Hashira, spoke his mind. "Master, I couldn't help but notice two very out of place demon slayers in our midst."

"Actually, they are the reason for this meeting," Kagaya said, "Kumeno Masachika, Sato Murata, and Shinazugawa Sanemi defeated Lower Moon One."

Expressions of surprise erupted amongst the hashira.

"As Masachika is retiring from his injuries, I wanted to offer both Sanemi and Murata the hashira position for their respective breathing arts," Kagaya said.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, master. While Sanemi is a kinoe, Murata is still a hinoe, is he not?" Kanae asked.

"You would be correct. However, I felt compelled to offer this opportunity. Of course, I do not want to override their desire either."

"I can understand letting the kinoe become a hashira, but a hinoe? It's a bit too rushed, I'd say," Tengen gave his objection.

"Yet, they defeated the strongest Lower Moon. Any higher and they'd have to fight an Upper Rank," Makomo said.

Seeing the discussion run in circles, Sanemi started laughing. Murata reached over to keep a tight hold on Sanemi, as if to warn him from saying anything damning.

Sanemi brushed Murata off, ignoring his signs and pointed a finger towards Kagaya.

"You're the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps?" Sanemi asked. He quivered with contempt.

Already, the hashira frowned seeing Sanemi's lack of respect.

"I can already see it. You've never held a sword, never fought a demon. Who do you think you are?"

"Sanemi. It appears you do not know how to speak properly," Gyomei said. The beads resting between his hands cracked.

Raising a hand, Kagaya stopped Gyomei from further responding. "Let him speak, Gyomei. I do not mind."

"You have no shame! It makes me sick. You see us as pieces to throw away, don't you? And you call yourself the leader of the Demon Slayer Crops?"

Kagaya stood up, making Sanemi pause in his tirade. Smiling softly, he expressed his apologies.

"I tried, but I couldn't manage to swing a sword ten times. I wished to be like all of you, the type of person who defends others with strength. It is because it is impossible for me that I have to ask you to do those things, and I am sorry for that."

Sanemi's next words vanished. Instead, he focused on the nostalgic smile that Kagaya bore. It held hope despite being full of burden. It was a smile from a parent who held nothing but love for their children.

It reminded him of his mother.

"If you are pawns, then I am also one. Even if someone like me were to die today, then nothing would change," Kagaya said.

Reaching out to his son, he continued speaking. "Already, I have my successor. I don't want you to misunderstand since this is your first time at a hashira meeting. I am not more important than any of you. If the way everyone treats me bothers you, you don't have to go along with it. I only ask that you continue to fight demons and defend the lives of others."

Sanemi mutely sat on his knees. Kagaya's words and character helped to calm his heart.

Walking slowly to Sanemi, Kagaya handed him a letter.

"Masachika wanted me to personally give this to you, no matter what the outcome of this meeting would be."

The letter was written to be easily understood. Sanemi, with his limited reading ability, was able to parse through it.

His tears silently trailed down his face.

"The same also goes for you, Murata," Kagaya turned to face Murata. "If the way others treat me bothers you, I don't expect you to act the same as them. My only desire is for you to continue saving the lives of others."

Murata nodded, daring not to say anything else.

The tense atmosphere lasted for a few moments more before being broken by Tengen.

Tengen and Kanae were cautious of Murata's potential promotion. Makomo defended him, while Gyomei remained neutral.

While the hashira's current feelings for Sanemi were less than favorable, there was no denying the fact that he met the requirements for a hashira promotion.

The problem was Murata.

"There is no disrespect when we say this," Kanae explained, "but we can't justify a hashira promotion immediately. The last time a non-kinoe ranked slayer became a hashira was when an Upper Moon was killed. That was over a hundred years ago. Not to mention, you recently created a new breathing art. Can you confidently say that you've mastered it?"

Murata shook his head. He understood the logic. He wouldn't force himself to take the position, though. It was important to gain the respect of your fellow compatriots, not clash needlessly. There were hills to die on, but this wasn't one of them.

Tengen lit up, offering a solution. "But you're in luck, my dull friend. From one original breathing art to another, I can graciously assist you. Be a temporary tsuguko of mine, and we'll have you as the Ice Hashira within the year!

"That's generous," Murata said, "but won't that affect your responsibilities?"

Tengen waved Murata's concerns away. "Which is why you'll be my tsuguko. I'll help you and you can assist me with some things too. Now, answer!"

"I'll be in your care."

Murata left with Tengen once the meeting concluded.

In the end, Sanemi accepted the title of Wind Hashira. His change of heart impressed Murata. Kagaya may not be a swordsman, but he possessed an uncanny ability to instill respect without using fear.

-

Tengen did not do things in half measures. Upon leaving the Ubuyashiki home, they sprinted, dashing wildly between the trees to make it to his own estate.

Tengen tested Murata's sleep. By this point, Murata had his breathing honed even during sleep, being able to maintain a focused breath nearly constantly. Tengen, upon realizing, abandoned this and focused on other things.

They physically trained together. As a ninja, Tengen favored activites and exercises that utilized his sense of sound and his surprising flexibility.

"The more you can stretch, the better you'll be able to use all your muscles," Tengen advised.

The most important training was equal parts mental as it was physical. It involved the application of their respective breathing styles. Since both were unique only to themselves, the specifics did not matter. What was more important was the general process.

Tengen's experience in creating and refining Sound Breathing proved to be a valuable blueprint for Murata's own growth.

"Just because something is a derivative doesn't make it any weaker than its parent. Nor does it mean the derivative is a clone. Take Flower Breathing. It's a derivative of Water Breathing. Now, to most people, the differences are significant enough that a Water Breather wouldn't be able to use Flower Breathing."

"Of course someone who uses Water Breathing can't use Flower Breathing," Murata said, "it was designed by a woman to fit her specific physique, wasn't it?"

Tengen cuffed the back of Murata's head. "That's not the point! Look at my own style. When you see it, do you associate it with Thunder Breathing?"

"If you didn't tell me, I wouldn't know," Murata admitted.

"And that's what I'm saying! You're being stiff with your new forms. Realize that there's no method to the madness."

The days passed by in a blur.

All in all, Tengen proved to be an effective teacher. However, Murata did have one, very slight problem with him. Whenever any of Tengen's wives came back from a mission or duty, he showed his affection.

Showing love and care wasn't the problem. It's just Tengen was the type to not do anything in half measures, and that applied to everything.

Even in the large manor, Murata's senses could pick up things he'd rather not hear.

Murata ended up sleeping outside in a tree.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

In the harsh heat of summer, Tengen trained like his life depended on it. Poison resistance, weapons proficiency, infiltration tactics, and more.

It was because his life truly did hinge on his skills. Pitted against his siblings, any sign of weakness meant death.

The continual death of his brothers and sisters pushed Tengen's father to the brink of mania. The training developed beyond human limits. Yet, Tengen not only survived, but thrived.

In a situation where he was constantly on the brink, he rose against each competitor, each challenge.

Even with his success, Tengen despised his father's methods. They were cruel, he was cruel, and everything to him was but a piece to further his goals.

With the change in Japan due to western influences, the ninja were fading away. Spies, assassins, and infiltrators were always needed in times of change, but the traditional methods of Japanese ninja were dying out.

Panicked by the threat to his bloodline, Uzui Tetsuji began seeing his wives and children as extensions of him. A thing to be tempered but thrown away if useless.

One day, Tengen snapped. When asked to train, he just stopped.

"You have no right to speak back to me," Tetsuji said, "I gave you everything. Your life, your strength."

"You gave me nothing that I couldn't already achieve myself, old man. Seeing you now only makes me want to throw up in shame."

Tetsuji threw a dagger aimed towards the heart. Tengen dodged it.

"Maybe I had set my hopes in the wrong child. At least I have your brother. He is growing to be a worthy heir himself."

Tengen trembled, his face morphing with anger. "You corrupted him with your insanity. His words are like yours, and he treats his wives like they're tools."

"If you leave, you will come to regret it. Grovel now, or die honorably like the rest of your siblings," Tetsuji said.

Taking out his daggers, Tengen prepared a stance. "I'd rather fight for my own life than be chained to your madness."

Tetsuji rushed towards Tengen, unsheathing a small sword. He leapt forcefully off the ground, stirking towards the chest. Tengen blocked the strike with his daggers and kicked his father away.

Throwing his makeshift bombs, the training grounds lit up in explosions. Tetsuji, focusing his vision through the smoke, dashed through to attack. He found an opening, and lunged his blade inside Tengen.

It would have felt satisfying if it were real. Knocking down the hastily made dummy, Tetsuji gritted his teeth. Tengen snuck behind him, stabbing a blade through the ankle.

Roaring in frustration, Tetsuji refocused himself and jumped away.

Tengen grabbed a sword and held several more bombs in his hand. Staring at his father, he spoke.

"I'm leaving. I'm tired of killing, but if you try to stop me, I'll kill you."

"Fine. Get the hell away from me. If I ever see you or your wives, I'll make you wish for death."

Tengen rushed back to his small home. He and his wives immediately deserted the area with renewed hope in their hearts.

-

Getting up, Murata found Tengen stretching at the courtyard.

"My dull friend, I see you're also up at the dead of night! Since you're here, I have news to tell."

Murata, already fed up with Tengen's antics, cut to the chase. "We've been here for two months. Is it about time we had a mission?"

"So eager already? You think now with some new forms, you can stand up against the beasts of this world? I admire the initiative, yet can't help but pity your ignorance."

Murata sighed, not rising to the bait. "As your tsuguko, I thought I could help you."

Flicking his finger at Murata's forehead, Tengen laughed. "This next task we're doing is something special that I personally requested. We're going to investigate, Uzui style!"

-

Traveling on the road for a week and a half, Tengen and Murata made it to Kyoto.

"I was most surprised by the flamboyancy of your reports, as unassuming as you are. I pictured a stoic, enlightened person behind such words. Unfortunately, reality often crushes my fantasies," Tengen said.

"What's your point?" Murata asked.

"The hashira are well aware of the Eternal Paradise Cult because of your notes. However, that's not what we're after. Instead, I want your assistance with something else."

Tengen and Murata sat on the roof of a tall building. The moon above them glowed brilliantly and the lights of the city illuminated the buildings and streets. Activity bustled, with businesses selling and people either working or enjoying their time off. Children laughed, couples relaxed, and workers continued their jobs.

Tengen pointed off his objectives. "First, I want to investigate the entertainment districts. Not so far as to infiltrate, but for general awareness. Second, I want to visit some of the auction houses. Such flashy places attract all kinds of attention."

"Do you expect to find demons?"

"Maybe," Tengen waved off. "If Upper Moon Two had a cult, then I can only imagine what the other demons do. That's why we need to investigate. I'll prepare the disguises."

-

Looking at the mirror, Murata cursed Tengen. With his growing hair and lack of distinguishable features, he could pass off as a tall, boyish lady. Along with Tengen's light touch of makeup, it would take an observant second glance at his face to deduce his gender. The clothes also helped to hide his figure.

"Is this absolutely necessary?" Murata felt like crawling in a hole.

"Of course!" Tengen said. "A couple is less suspicious and they're seen as easier targets. I knew I made the right choice, forbidding you from trimming that hair. Haha!"

Walking around the busy streets, they observed the people around them. The shops, the restaurants, the homes, everything was clumped together like hardened clay. The first night was uneventful as Tengen stopped some rowdy drunkards.

The second night was even more boring. They passed through so many faces that Murata lost track. Men, women, children. Businessmen, students, courtesans, and more. Their days alternated between finding auction houses and passing through entertainment districts.

One night, they entered an auction house selling works of art. The large house was stagnant with warm air and busybodies. The lights glared down at the bidders as vases and pottery were put on display.

The vases themselves were beautiful to look at. Adorned with patterns of leaves, trees, fish, and other ocean life, the artist clearly pulled inspiration from Japan's natural atmosphere.

If Murata had one thing to nitpick, it was that some of the vases looked slightly asymmetrical. But, that in it of itself could be considered part of the design.

"Do you see something familiar? Or do you want me to buy something for you?" Tengen teased him.

Pulling a fan to his face, Murata shook his head.

The auctioneer stepped up to the stage, grabbing everyone's attention. "Welcome, one and all! For this week's collection, we have a special lineup. The art pieces you see here were made by a man known only as Gyokko. Now, let's keep this fair and honest."

Murata furrowed his brow in irritation.

The auction began, the volume getting louder and louder. The auctioneer spat out prices and egged the various bidders to fight. His voice cut through the chaos of the bidding. The crowd, split between the observers and the buyers, enjoyed the frantic ambience. The warmth of the house forced Murata to wave his fan to prevent him from sweating too much.

Tengen even participated with his own bids for fun. His large stature was a naturally intimidating part of him, but in the auction, the most threatening people were those with the most money. His bids were quickly outpaced by the more wealthy businessmen.

As the auction died down and the winners received their prizes, Murata and Tengen both walked back to their shared inn room.

Compiling the reports for the investigation thus far, Murata continued writing until Tengen interrupted him.

"I can hear your irritation. Did you find something suspicious, or do you know something more?" Tengen asked him.

"I find the name Gyokko suspicious, that's all. Maybe it is worth pursuing."

Tengen stared hard at him. He looked at every facet of Murata's expression.

All in all, the makeup was not too bad. The lessons his wives gave him were well worth it.

"Very well," Tengen rolled his eyes. "I know not your exact methods during the Eternal Paradise fiasco, but if you think something is worth searching, I don't mind combing through it."

Pulling out a muscular mouse, he whispered to its ears before it nodded and ran away.

The mouse looked disturbing. Rodents should not ever appear with human looking physiques.

"How in the hell did you train those?"

Tengen laughed, seeing Murata's face. "You have much to learn if you want to understand the way of the ninja."

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

True to word, Tengen shifted his attention towards the auction houses. In particular, they were interested in finding more about the artist Gyokko.

They spent the past few weeks searching through various sections of the city. The art pieces didn't sell very often, but when they did, they sold quickly and for large sums of money.

Tengen cornered one of the auctioneers after an auction.

"Hmm, can't say I've ever met Gyokko myself," he said, rubbing his mustache. "Normally, he sends someone else to deliver his works. But, if you want to meet the original artist, he's dead."

"What do you mean by that?" Tengen asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" The man looked at Tengen like he was slow. "Gyokko is more than a name. It's a legacy of a name, more like a title. The first Gyokko vase was sold in the middle of the Edo Period."

"It's been passed down from father to son?"

The man laughed, clearing the tears from his eyes. "Well, no. Art is fickle, and not every generation can capture that beauty. Besides, the original Gyokko never had children, so there is no descendant to speak of. It's more akin to a spiritual successor. No one can live that long."

Tengen knew, but he was also aware of the impossible. Controlling his annoyance, he asked again. "So, is there a way to meet that artist?"

"I can only get you to the delivery person. Next week, we're going to host another auction. If you stay behind when the other patrons leave, we can schedule a meeting for a fee."

Tossing the man a bag of coins, Tengen left.

-

Opening the rented room and slamming the door, Tengen lumbered in. Murata was still busy writing and preparing his supplies.

"You came back earlier than I thought," Murata said. "Did you find anything interesting?"

"Fear not, for I have secured a lead into this Gyokko fellow," Tengen bragged. Squinting at the mess in the room, he scoffed.

"You're preparing the bombs wrong," he said. Taking the bag of powder and metal from Murata, his hands deftly packed the material.

"Why can't you just give me some of your stuff?" Murata complained.

"It's expensive putting bits of nichirin metal into bombs. Besides, yours has wisteria in it, which makes it useful for other purposes. Honestly, if it were a different hashira, then they might force you to give this up."

Murata, after receiving the explosives from Tengen, put them safely in his pouch.

"Why don't we teach more demon slayers about this?"

"It's obvious, no?" Tengen raised an eyebrow. "The average demon slayer is focusing on trying to cut the head off a demon. It's not discouraged, but the emphasis is on training and using the breathing arts so that you don't need to rely on cheap tricks. Using other tools in the middle of battle is a skill in it of itself. For most people, that means precious time away from training with a sword or focusing their breathing."

Slapping Murata's back, Tengen moved forward. "Enough about that. If you want to make a change, become a hashira first, then convince us with your flamboyance."

-

After a week, Tengen finally received his scheduled meeting. In a small room tucked in a corner of the auction house, a sickly man approached him.

His breath felt foul, and his body looked ready to collapse. "I'll accompany you to the artist. He's a bit out the way, so we'll have to spend most of the night traveling. Is that okay with you?"

Tengen nodded. They exited the house and began walking.

Outside, Murata stoop on the rooftops, following the pair without a sound. The crows were some distance behind him, memorizing the route and avoiding detection. With a new moon in the sky, the darkness of the night enveloped them. Even the lights in the city began to dim as they walked further and further into the outskirts of Kyoto.

Eventually, they reached a mansion sitting far away from its neighbors. A forest surrounded the property. Murata, standing on a tree branch, shuddered. The whole area gave him a familiar feeling.

"Do you have any final words to say?" The sickly man asked. He fell to the ground, his bones cracking and twisting as he shifted into a behemoth.

Relying on instinct and irrationality, the demon lunged towards Tengen, intending to rip his head off.

Ice Breathing, Third Form: Striking Chill

Murata leapt off the tree, decapitating the demon in one fell swoop.

Tengen spat at the ground in disgust. "What an abomination. He must've been one of Gyokko's minions."

Before they entered the property, Tengen reviewed his plan. Releasing two of the muscle mice, he spoke to Murata.

"If this is an Upper Moon, I will call the retreat personally. But until my signal, we continue fighting. Steel your heart, Murata. We're about to enter the belly of the beast."

Nodding at his words, Murata walked into the property with Tengen.

The outside remained still. The lack of animals and even insects made the place all the more quiet.

Kicking the door down, Tengen rushed in, with Murata closely behind him. The rooms were empty and devoid of any belongings. Once they reached the second floor, they saw a vase sitting at the center of the room. The design bore a similar appearance as the ones sold in the auctions.

Slowly, a slimy body slithered out of the vase, the watery sound echoing in the room. The demon was beyond disfigured. He had tiny hands in place of arms. His eye sockets, instead of containing eyes, were mouths. He had two eyes, one on his forehead, and one where a mouth normally would be. He possessed no visible legs, but a tail. More hands were sticking out of his head and his tail.

Sound Breathing, First Form: Roar

Tengen slammed his blades down at the demon, his weapons crushing the vase entirely. The vase dissolved into nothing, and a new one reappeared on a different side of the room, the demon emerging out of it again.

"Oh ho! Such rude introductions. I thought it was Miyamoto at first, but it looks like you killed him. I can only imagine his death throes."

When the demon opened his eyes completely, both demon slayers saw the engraving.

Upper Moon Five

Tengen swung his dual blades, the impact of which began to destroy the room. Gyokko remained unbothered, easily dodging and weaving.

Ice Breathing, Fourth Form: Ice Cutter

Murata tried to follow the two, aiming for Gyokko's blindspot. The sword sliced air as Gyokko disappeared into a different pot.

"No respect. But what can I expect from two pitiful demon slayers? Your ornaments are an insult to the eyes," Gyokko said.

Tengen laughed it off. "If my flashiness bothers you, then your work is an eyesore. I could never spend any amount of money on your vases."

Gyokko's body quivered and his veins trembled. "Every great artist is ahead of their time. It's not an issue if ants can't see greatness for what it is."

"Ahead of their time?" Murata asked. "If we mock your art even hundreds of years later, then it must mean you're lacking something important as an artist."

Pulling out two more vases from his body, Gyokko released several orange fish. They began spitting out poisonous barbs, the needles heading for Murata and Tengen.

Tengen pulled out his bombs and threw them towards the fish and Gyokko. The explosions rocked the building. The support collapsed, and the building fell.

Jumping out the windows, Murata and Tengan found themselves outside.

Gyokko emerged out the rubble no worse for wear.

"I figured a quick death would be generous, but I can't have that now. I want to see you scream in agony and beg for the release of death!"

Gyokko summoned several more fish monsters. They staggered and swarmed quickly, their human appendages carrying their oversized bodies.

Ice Breathing, First Form: Glacial Storm

With a combination of wisteria and his sword, Murata dealt with the monsters as Tengen engaged Gyokko directly.

Stomping the ground hard with his foot, Tengen spun his weapons again, the displaced dirt and dust obscuring Gyokko's vision.

He pulled out another pot, summoning water to clear away the debris. Another pot appeared in his hand, spitting out octopus tentacles to constrict Tengen's movements.

Sound Breathing, Second Form: Flashing Chains

Tengen moved faster and faster, his blades cutting up the tentacles. Sneaking behind him, Gyokko incased Tengen in his water pot.

"Now, I have taken away a demon slayer's greatest ability! Once I take care of your friend, I'll come back for you."

Before Gyokko could leave, the muscle mice jumped from their hiding spots. The first mouse threw a dagger at Gyokkos' eye, and the other mouse threw even more bombs at Tengen's feet.

Angered, Gyokko flailed wildly and killed the mice. His eye swelled with poison and his patience reached its end.

Being freed from his prison and with the monsters destroyed, Tengen and Murata regrouped, facing an enraged Gyokko.

Seeing the instability in the demon's expression, Tengen made a hand gesture.

Prepare the retreat.

Keeping a match in his sleeve, Murata held his ground.

Gyokko hid in his pot for a single moment before emerging again with a new body. His muscles flexed and his shiny tail glowed even with the lack of moonlight.

"Be honored, for you have infuriated me to depths few get to witness. Behold my perfection!"

Tengen looked as bold as ever, his confidence burning brightly. "If you are perfection, then I am a god among gods."

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

Throwing out the last of his explosives, Tengen started running away.

After releasing the fireworks, Murata followed behind Tengen, both committing to a tactical retreat. They darted through the forest, hoping to lose sight of Gyokko.

Tengen cursed. "A retreat feels disgraceful, but until we get reinforcements, it's our only option."

The moment he stopped speaking, Gyokko suddenly caught up with a vengeance. He readied a punch and sent Murata crashing against a tree. Murata spat out blood as his eyes closed.

Tengen blocked Gyokko's other attack, and they began clashing together head to head. Each blow edged closer and closer to Tengen's vitals. Even glancing blows caused damage, his accessories turning into fish.

"It's surprising," Gyokko said. "A normal human would have died from my poison."

Stalling for time, Tengen entertained Gyokko's curiosity. "As a ninja, I'm naturally resistant to poison. Cheap tricks like that won't work on me!"

"I've faced ninja before," Gyokko narrowed his eyes. "You don't look like them."

"I'm one of a kind!"

Tengen's mind rapidly worked on finding a solution to survival. The poison, despite his bluff, did still affect him. He wasn't immune to poison, just resistant to it. He had no simple way to behead this demon. Gyokko's scales were as tough as diamonds, and it took Tengen all his concentration to keep up with his speed.

His only saving grace was his experience in combat. If only he had a little more time to observe Gyokko's attack patterns, then he could create an opening.

Tengen bit his tongue, drawing blood as Gyokko's tail swiped him, lacerating his chest. Looming over him, Gyokko aimed a punch towards Tengen's head.

Water Breathing, First Form: Water Surface Slash

Makomo's blade tried burying itself into Gyokko's neck. He immediately wriggled away and put distance between the two hashira. Blood seeped out of his neck wound. Covering his neck with the hands on his head, he glared at the new arrival.

Murata, clutching his side, staggered towards Makomo and Tengen. His eyes were manic and he trembled, but Murata was still alive.

"A little more time, then I can finish the score," Tengen said, scrambling to bandage his chest.

Makomo and Murata nodded, rushing towards Gyokko with renewed teamwork.

Ice and water forms danced together, forcing Gyokko to split his attention between two coordinated opponents.

He had the complete advantage. Faster, stronger, and unlimited stamina, but every time he would get close enough to cause a fatal attack towards one, the other would help reduce the impact. Wounds littered their body and fish sprawled on the ground, yet they continued standing.

Meanwhile, Murata was fighting to keep consciousness. Everything burned. His torso bled, his vision blurred, his ears screamed, and the blood from his grip covered the sword's handle. He kept tightening his hold on the sword, praying for something to work.

Makomo fared better, but against an Upper Moon, her wounds were piling up. One eye swelled shut and the fingers on her left hand were broken. They both suffered fractures and the blood loss only served to make Gyokko more motivated to kill them.

The sun was rising soon. If Gyokko didn't finish this now, then he would have to flee. He summoned thousands of fish and stormed towards the demon slayers.

"Coming through!"

Sound Breathing, Fifth Form: String Performance

Tengen charged straight towards Gyokko, dodging fatal attacks and obliterating many of the fish. He got in range, swinging directly towards the neck. Gyokko retaliated in anger, summoning a swordfish and stabbing at Tengen's left eye.

"Now!" He screamed, bearing the pain.

Murata and Makomo capitalized on Tengen's distraction.

Ice Breathing, Fifth Form: Sleet and Slice

Water Breathing, Tenth Form: Constant Flux

The blades met Gyokko's neck. Putting more and more pressure, they forced the swords to cut deeper and deeper. Against the hardened skin, Murata spent every bit of strength in his attack. Gripping the sword handle tighter, he forced himself to cut through. It turned red for such a short moment that Murata wondered if he was seeing things.

A feral cry erupted from Gyokko's mouths, a typhoon of water and fish pushing the demon slayers back. The sun began to peek, forcing Gyokko to retreat into the woods. His neck burned with a pain he never felt before. His blood stirred, reliving a nightmare from Muzan's past.

Murata ran towards Gyokko before collapsing on the ground, his blood seeping into the dirt. His hands empty, he noticed his sword dim as it remain lodged in Gyokko's neck. Gyokko, grabbing at it, hissed in pain as it burned him unnaturally.

Makomo threw her blade before kneeling in agony and Tengen did the same. The flying swords found an opening, driving Murata's blade deeper through the neck, separating the head from its body.

Arriving at Gyokko's body, Tengen and Makomo watched as he cursed them.

"That's not possible! How dare you! How dare you!"

Grabbing his damaged swords, Tengen sliced the rest of Gyokko's head into pieces.

"How dare you..."

He crumbled away, leaving nothing left.

Makomo rushed back to Murata. His pulse declined, and seeing the state of his hands made her wince. Without further treatment, infection would seep in.

Tengen slowly made his way back, holding Murata's sword and handing Makomo's weapon back to her.

"When are the kakushi coming?" He plopped to the ground, focusing on delaying the poison.

Makomo began addressing Murata's wounds. "They should be coming now. I told them to bring everything they could carry. The sooner we treat the poison and your eye, the better off we'll be."

Tengen sighed, letting the anguish in his body wash over him. "Hopefully, they have extra uniforms to change into. Look at us."

Makomo scowled at him.

-

The kakushi came with medical supplies and ample personnel. Transporting the kinoe and two hashira, they recovered in the Butterfly Estate.

Murata woke up after weeks of slipping in and out of consciousness. The first thing he felt were the numbness in his hands. They were wrapped so stiffly in bandages that he couldn't wriggle his fingers.

Tengen smashed through the door so loudly that Murata screamed.

"I heard the change in your breathing, so I just knew you were awake!"

Walking up to him, Tengen slammed a piece of paper on the desk next to Murata's bed.

"Enjoy your promotion, my friend. The master already established the Ice Estate and your title. Once Kanae gives the go ahead, you'll have to attend your own ceremony."

Murata nodded, still taking in the news. "What about you? Are you still going to be in the corps?"

"This little thing?" Tengen gestured at his eyepatch. "I still have all my limbs, don't I? I'm taking a break, but I'm not retiring just yet."

"What about Makomo? Did she already recover?"

Tengen nodded. "She left a couple weeks before you woke up. Her recovery is unlike any I've seen. I wish the best in your future."

"Don't just leave on that ominous warning!"

Tengen laughed, leaving as quickly as he entered.

-

Removing the bandages from his hands, Kanae gave a noise of disapproval.

Holding a hand to her forehead, she sighed. "I don't know exactly what you did during that battle, but if you grip your weapon like that again, you could lose the ability to hold your sword altogether."

Wriggling his fingers and clenching his hands, Murata could feel the stiffness abating. The skin mostly healed, though permanent scars marred them.

"Tengen felt the heat of your blade. Do you have any idea what you did?"

Murata nodded. "In that battle, all I remember was gripping my sword with such intense strength that I almost passed out. Upper Moon Five's regeneration slowed down when my sword made contact with him."

Kanae wrote down some notes, urging him to continue.

"That's the extent of it. It was a desperate moment. I don't think I can replicate that again."

She agreed with him. "I'm serious, don't make a habit of it. It'd be a shame to lose a new hashira that quickly," she said.

-

Murata rested. He healed, and while his hands hurt from time to time, he felt mostly recovered.

Receiving a letter from Nobu, he took it from the crow's leg and read it. The next day, the kakushi guided him to the Ubuyashiki Estate.

Finding himself in a similar situation, he kneeled in front of the master.

"Do you accept your title, Murata?" Kagaya asked him.

"I'd be honored to do so," Murata said.

With that, the rest of the hashira witnessed a new member amongst its ranks.

The death of Upper Moon Five was so widespread that even the Flame Hashira, Rengoku Shinjuro, showed up. It only soured Sanemi's mood.

"So now this deadbeat wants to show up?"

Shinjuro glared at Sanemi. "Watch your mouth, boy. I've been here longer than you've been alive."

Sanemi cracked his knuckles, his eyes bloodshot with glee. "I'll be glad to end that right now."

Gyomei stood between them, his expression tolerating absolutely no infighting. Shinjuro, eyeing Murata instead, scoffed and walked away.

"Why can't we have him retire, master?" Kanae asked politely.

Kagaya smiled. "The Rengoku family has always been a loyal and strong pillar of the organization. If he does not want to give up his title personally, then I will not force him. Instead, I want to focus on capitalizing this victory. Murata, do you have any more information about your blade during the battle?"

Murata explained his findings, though whether the usefulness of incorporating this into each individual's training was questionable. The damage to one's hands by trying to achieve this feat made it very risky, as evident by Murata's injuries.

Murata knew if he could manifest a demon slayer mark, then it would be possible without having to sacrifice his hands. Though, burning through your own lifespan by activating the mark wasn't exactly reasonable either.

With the meeting over and congratulations given, Murata immediately asked for a favor.

"You wish to read some of our records?" Kagaya asked.

"Yes. There has to be more about the 'red blade.' Who knows what else is in the records?" Murata said.

"I see no reason to deny you, though many of our best have tortured themselves trying to find those kinds of answers," Kagaya said, slowly walking to the Ubuyashiki library.

Handing him a copy of a key, Kagaya smiled at Murata. "If it is you, then I have nothing to fear. Find what you can, but don't forget to take care of yourself."

Entering the building, Murata began his search.

 

[DeeplyoftheWorld]

The library was filled to the brim with scrolls, papers, records, ladders, and dust.

Several kakushi were assigned to the general upkeep of the Ubuyashiki library. They did their best, but exhaustion caught up with them as they slept on the floor near a corner.

The library contained all the records from the late Heian Period to the present day. Nearly a thousand years worth of knowledge, history, and accounts were kept here. Even though many of the older records were lost or destroyed during some of the chaotic periods of the organization's past, there was a great deal to sort through.

It took more time than expected. Not only were many of the records incomplete, but much of it was incomprehensible. He simply could not read the older works due to the formal and archaic Japanese it used. Even the documents from half a century ago required patience to get through.

Maybe the Demon Slayer Corps' greatest threat was the lack of formal education, he morbidly thought. His parents tried their best, but Murata was not from a rich family in the city. Murata did force himself to get better at reading and writing, but he could only go so far.

Unfortunately, his 'help' was in the same boat.

Sanemi shoved a scroll in Murata's face. "This has a number on it. From the seventeenth century?"

Tengen took it away and skimmed through it. "This is useless. It only talks about the torture methods of the Poison Hashira. On second thought..."

Makomo handed Murata another historical account. "This one talks about the Water Hashira during the Sengoku Period."

Perking up, Murata eagerly grabbed it from her, then frowned. "The late Sengoku Period. Not the right time, unfortunately."

Sanemi grumbled, knocking down a table and scaring the kakushi away. "What the hell are you even looking for? You became a hashira just to look at some moldy words?"

"I'm looking for accounts from the Sengoku Golden Age. If there's any era where I can find answers to the 'red blade' or any other paths to strength, then this is the best bet."

"If you want strength, just spar with me outside," Sanemi said.

Murata sighed. "Unless Masachika's there to watch us, you're going to pummel me with your fists."

"Found something!" Tengen pulled out a scroll.

"The Raging Blade?" Makomo peeked over, testing the words slowly.

Grabbing it, Murata read through the entry. It was old and damaged.

Once the marks started appearing, one...that tried...mimicked was the red...Tsugikuni...red blade... hamper even the...regeneration with...cut...extremely abnormal...impossible for non...Breathers to invoke the...Blade.

It wasn't useless, but there was a lot to be desired.

"It mentioned marks," Murata muttered to himself.

"It said non-breathers," Makomo noticed. "But it could be referring to a specific breathing art, right?"

"Maybe the original breath," Tengen said.

"I'm more curious about the mark," Murata said. "It must be related to the original breath, but there has to be more information about it."

Sanemi's crow flew through the window, yelling out orders. Sanemi left, leaving the three hashira in the library.

"I may have one eye, but I'm twice as useful as that guy!" Tengen bragged.

-

The next few days were spent much the same way, during which the hashira read to find more related information about the mark. Murata even enlisted the help of the kakushi in the library. One of them was a historian.

The historian, Shoto, handed him another scroll. "This one mentions marks, though it's quite bare. I did my best to interpret it."

Thanking him for his efforts, Murata read it.

When the marked one arrives, the mark will appear on others around that person as if in resonance.

Tengen huffed. "It's impossible. How are we supposed to find the marked one?"

"Maybe a descendant of the original breath is still alive?" Makomo asked.

"It's also possible the original breath was passed down to a friend or as a tradition," Murata threw out his conjecture.

That was the real answer, but actually finding Tanjiro looked to be a daunting task. His village was never mentioned by name. The only things Murata knew for certain was that his family worked with coal, there was snow in the winter, and they had bears.

Now, besides Kyushu and Shikoku, the rest of Japan had snow to a noticeable degree. As for bears, Murata had no idea of the bear population throughout Japan. For coal, the Kamado family did not work in a coal factory or mine, so their local source of coal would barely register on a map of natural resources.

Strangely, the record only mentioned 'the marked one.' If, by divine providence, someone encountered Kokushibo and escaped, would that fulfill the conditions of interacting with a marked person?

Did he not have to wait for Tanjiro to manifest his mark? Further, was a Sun Breather not necessary?

However, finding Kokushibo was a long shot. Worse, surviving Kokushibo was impossible. No amount of tricks or tactics would allow him to survive an encounter at this point. Of all the hashira currently, only Gyomei might stand a chance of survival. Only to survive, because actually killing Kokushibo without a mark was like pitting a child against a bear.

Murata had another kakushi copy the notes for future purposes.

Getting up, he had a new plan. "I'm heading to the Ice Estate."

"Finally, a change in pace!" Tengen eagerly joined him. Makomo followed behind them as they left the library.

-

Entering the dojo within the Ice Estate, Murata sat down, observing the room around him.

"In our fight against Upper Moon Five, there's something important I realized that we could all work on," Murata said.

Makomo and Tengen stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Our teamwork was vital, but it's not often that hashira get to work together. If we adapt our fighting styles together, it greatly increases our potential."

Makomo nodded. "Most of us already understand that, but the problem is we're often working alone because of our status. For most missions, sending more than one hashira is a waste of resources."

"I suggest the Ice Estate be used as a place for the hashira to train together, whenever time allows," Murata said.

"I don't disagree, but this place is boring. Not very flashy or suited for hashira training, in my opinion," Tengen said.

Murata understood. "I can ask for some of the kakushi to reorganize this place. I already have a house, so this is a bit overkill."

-

Much like the Butterfly Estate, the Ice Estate gained a new reputation beyond being a residence. It turned into a training ground for all the hashira. Plans were put in place to allow other higher ranking members or promising talents to train, but that was for the future.

With the establishment of the Ice Estate, Murata went back to duty, killing demons.

His other goal was to look for the Kamado family. He cursed his poor planning and regretted waiting so long to officially start the search. Even with the Ubuyashiki family helping, it would take too long.

Yet, the biggest concern wasn't whether or not he could save them. It would be a tragedy for Tanjiro to lose his family, that much was true, but his actions ultimately set in motion Muzan's defeat.

In other words, if Tanjiro didn't awaken the mark and Nezuko didn't conquer the sun as a demon, how would the Demon Slayer Corps lure Muzan and defeat him?

The mark was a simple matter. Tanjiro, with his kind and noble attitude, would not hesitate to help others even at the risk of his own life. However, Nezuko's transformation into a demon was more unpredictable.

After all, Murata's sole role as a demon slayer included preventing tragedies like this in the first place. Unless Murata could also find Tamayo, maybe she could change things.

Groaning, Murata kept moving forward as he felt the start of a headache.